


Your Shadow Lives On

by jovialien



Series: MagicVerse [7]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Magic, die_pretty is a fabulous yankpicker/cheerleader, not a high school AU Frank just happens to go there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialien/pseuds/jovialien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a little down time, a little solitude and peace and quiet is just what you need.  Sometimes, it just gives you too much time in your own head...</p><p>With a successful exorcism behind them, our boys start to find the spell has had some unexpected consequences - both for better and for worse.  Whether they know it or not, they need each other now more than ever.</p><p>But with work, school, health, life, (and Frank's mom) keeping them apart and from noticing the signs, will they realise who actually needs help the most before it's too late and one of their number is changed forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "So remember, even if you're dusted, you may be gone, but out here in the desert your shadow lives on without you."  
> Doctor Death Defying, Danger Days

Ray wakes up seven times during the night until he gives up on sleep, tossing the covers off and grabbing his battered old electric guitar. Plugging in his headphones, he plays to himself until the stars fade and the sun comes up to chase the shadows from his room. The ones on his face stubbornly remain though, and he resigns himself to a day on caffeine and starts to seriously consider asking for help. 

He can go a long time without a decent night's sleep, can live quite happily on just four hours a night sometimes, but it has been so long since he got even that much he can't remember what it feels like, can't feel anything but the ache in his bones and the lead in his eyes.

Blowing out a long sigh, Ray rubs his eyes and heads through to the shower. The tiredness will fade as the day goes on and he will be fine as soon as he gets moving. Hot water, hot coffee, and he will be fine.

*********************************

Mikey Way is feeling... Odd. A little spacey. A little... stretched. Closing his eyes, he fumbles his phone to switch off the alarm and groans, throwing his arm over his head. It's weird, normally after an effort like the night before he would have a headache, the pain almost as familiar to him as his breathing, but today there's nothing. He's tired, hell yeah, his body melted into the mattress and not wanting to peel itself away, but his head-

There's no pain. The static of the world is still there, a little muted but at the same time somehow clearer. Like the volume has been lowered but the reception has improved. He can also feel the others, can feel Ray's tiredness, a flash of surprise and maybe glee from Bob, the strange murmur of dreams from Frank, even Gerard is there, just a heartbeat, no thoughts at all, but a presence in his mind where there used to be just a blank spot. It's as though he has been levelled up in a video game, his control suddenly greater, sharper. 

It's bizarre, like when the optician changes his glasses and the world shifts around him, his body adjusting to new blind spots, new areas of sharpness. It's better but weird, confusing, and when he tries to sit up, his head spins, the room shifting around him. He feels drugged, drunk, not quite himself. It's not the first time he's felt like this but it's been months since he's had an 'episode' as his mom calls them, and this is the first time it hasn't been accompanied by the migraine of doom.

Groaning low in his throat, Mikey burrows back under the covers and pulls his cell in after him. Pain he can handle, easy peasy pumpkin peasy, no problem at all, but feeling like he's (quite literally) out of his mind? There's no way he should be dealing with steam and hot liquids today. Texting his boss, he tosses the phone back onto the floor and rests his head back on the pillow. Another couple of hours sleep should do the trick...

**********************************

Bob Bryar wakes up slowly, the light peeking in through the gap in the drapes shining directly onto his face and pulling him from sleep. Growling, he shifts, trying to block it with his covers by his head but he doesn't like sleeping with his face covered and can't seem to find the right angle.

“Fucking curtains.” Waving his hand at the window distractedly, he rolls over again.

The crash as the curtain pole falls to the floor, ripped clean off the wall, makes him bolt upright in bed, breathing hard as he stares at the wall. Huh. Usually he has to think really hard just to get them to pull across an inch or two. That time he wasn't even concentrating, just vaguely wanting the sunlight to go away.

Which, of course, it hasn't. In fact, it's much, much worse. Holding out his hand, he focuses on the pole and can't help grinning as it rises steadily back off the floor, wavering a little before levelling out and moving back to the wall, the screws returning with gritty complaints to their holes. It's shaky as Hell, and won't stay up for very long, pretty much until anyone touches the drapes again, but it's in place. He can even feel the screws twisting, digging in for whatever traction they can get, reburying themselves in the wall.

Letting out a laugh of surprise, Bob lowers his hand, the darkness solid again. That was pretty cool.

And as a bonus, he can now get some more sleep until he needs to head into the garage.

**************************

Gerard makes it into work just fine, no problems. 

Mostly.

Okay, so he's ten minutes late opening, but nobody actually turns up for another half hour, long enough for him to set up a life support system of coffee in the back room and sneak out into the alley for a much needed hit of nicotine.

The online orders are less fun when he checks them; he's made a couple of mistakes that Charlie is gonna dock his wages for if he's not careful. Hastily arranging the redeliveries and returns, he heads back out into the shop and grins as his first customers come in.

It's just regulars, a kid from the junior high with a flush of acne along his jaw and a love of Marvel, and Mrs Geere from the elementary school. She is probably one of Gerard's favourite customers, if only because not only is she a fan of DC, he knows full well every comic she buys goes into a special library in her classroom and is lent out to pupils with an interest but without the money to keep up with a whole collection. 

Nodding to them, he hugs his coffee as he watches them browse, then hesitates as he notices something he hasn't spotted before. It's a smear on her arm, just a tiny spot of darkness, disrupting the line of her light. It's so clear though, so sharp, he can't believe he hasn't spotted it before. Before he can stop himself, the mug is abandoned on the counter and he's gliding between the racks and reaching out to touch her arm. Her jacket is thick but that doesn't matter, not any more, he can feel through it-

“Gerard? Are you okay?”

Nodding quickly, he backs up, running a hand through his hair. Shit. _Shit_. “Sorry, I just, you had something on your arm.”

Laughing, she twists, looking at her sleeve and rubbing her other hand over it. “Probably poster paint again, did you get it?”

“I, uh-” He watches as she slips off her coat and drapes it over the racks, rolling her eyes at the flecks of paint on the sleeve.

“Ugh, I really need to give this a proper brush off.”

It's when she reaches out, her jumper sleeve riding up a little, that he spots it. The darkness in her aura is matched by a dark patch on her skin. He can't help it, even as he tries to hold back, he's reaching out and pressing a finger to the mole, feeling the flare of his energy flowing through and forcing the darkness away again instinctively. 

“Gerard?” She isn't freaked, not really, but the look on her face is definitely questioning why the fuck he just touched her and with good reason really. Tactile as he is amongst his friends, Gerard is usually pretty careful to keep his hands to himself in public, the urge to heal every little injury so distracting they start to wander unless he holds himself in tight.

So, yeah, the look she's giving him is definitely warranted, and his brain is starting to point out that _he's just standing there, with his fucking finger still pressed against her arm and oh God what the fuck are you doing you asshole?_

“You should,” he starts quickly, throwing on an apologetic smile and pulling his hand back. “Uh, that mole, you should get it checked out.”

Laughing at last, she picks up her coat and regards him sceptically. “Okay, who put you up to this? Did Sally ask you to nag me?” Smiling, she shrugs her coat back on and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Nice try Gerard, you're a good kid but subtle as a brick. And I know, I know I should, and I will. I just haven't had the time.”

“You... You should.” Gerard manages, forcing himself to step away again. “And uh, sorry, should've known you would see through me.” Grinning as much as he can manage, he backs away until he is behind the counter and hiding behind his coffee mug again. His fingers are shaking though and it takes most of the mug and a few minutes of deep breathing to calm down again.

It was cancerous. He is absolutely certain, it had been skin cancer. And he had seen it... Fuck, he had certainly never been able to detect _that_ before, at least not before it was a Hell of a lot bigger, and definitely not in time to be able to do anything about it.

But he had this time. He was sure of it, he could see that it was fading, still a smudge but nowhere as dark, the attack dying out before it could spread any further, the pulse of it dying down to a dead, dark spot.

Swallowing his coffee, Gerard ducks behind the curtain and sinks down onto his stool gratefully, staring at his hands in disbelief. That was... That was insane.

Stifling a laugh, Gerard claps a hand over his mouth to try and hold back the grin. That was awesome.

******************************************

Frank stretches back to consciousness after a solid twelve hours sleep, feeling – there is no other word for it. Awesome.

Or just maybe there is another word, Frank thinks, as the delicious drag of his covers over his morning wood sends a shiver through him. Horny.

The exhaustion long gone, Frank just luxuriates in the comfort of his bed, his mind slowly reminding him that it's Saturday, he doesn't have to go anywhere, not for hours. Or maybe even at all, in fact – they hadn't exactly made plans beyond last night, the exorcism taking all their attention.

Linking his hands behind his head, Frank closes his eyes and grins at the memory. Everything after her leaving is a blur, but before that, the feeling... It makes him wonder if that is how Mikey feels, the connection to others running through him. It had been amazing, as though he was being filled with energy from his friends, from William, even from the girl herself. He could still feel them all in his skin somehow, Gee's love and protection, Ray's gentle wisdom and compassion, Mikey's patience and fortitude, even Bob's gruff strength and hidden loyalty running through his veins still.

And he'd thought sex with Gerard was intimate. This, that feeling last night, is a whole new level and yet not sexual at all, just... right.

“It's guy love, that's all it is,” Frank sings to himself before dissolving into giggles. He feels ridiculously happy, high even, and stretches again before sliding one hand back under the covers. After all, it's not like he doesn't have the time. A little fun, quick shower, some breakfast...

And then perhaps he might go see Gerard.

************************************

Gerard makes it to midday but only just, sighing with relief as he sticks up a “back in fifteen minutes” sign on the door, complete with Back to the Future Delorean on it. Eating at the counter, or behind his curtain, whilst the shop is open is fine but even he needs a quick break sometimes. He heats up some soup in the microwave whilst he uses the small bathroom, taking a minute to splash cold water over his face to try and wake up a bit more, and makes a beeline for the small back door and fresh air.

It's cold outside, getting bitter again, and bites through his thin layers but he won't be out here for long and contents himself with a scarf and pair of fingerless gloves to stave the worst of it off long enough to light up. The cigarette is warming and soothes an itch, even as he feels the slight smudge of its bad effects on his body. It takes only a moment to whisk the worst of it off, even as he feels a little guilty at indulging in such a bad habit without taking the same risks as everyone else.

Then again, there have to be some perks of being a Witch.

Inhaling deeply, he blows it out and leans back against the wall, letting his eyes close as his head tilts up to face the cloud filled sky.

A soft, low, whistle gets his attention but he doesn't turn, just lets a smile curve over his lips as a familiar surge of energy approaches.

“You know, I'm sure I've seen a porno that starts like this,” Frank calls softly, stalking his way over to Gerard with two huge paper cups in his hands. 

“You've already used that line last night, Iero. You're slipping.” Opening his eyes, Gerard twists to look but doesn't move from the wall, just contenting himself to look. Frank looks better than he has for days, his eyes bright and body moving with a contented ease, but more than that his aura is bright and pure, no signs of the slow exhaustion that has been eating away at him since getting his powers.

Frank's dressed warmly, what looks like two different hoodies on and pulled up over his head, his pants for once intact across the knees and without the usual tears and damage from his habits of throwing himself around with complete disregard for sharp edges, floors, or brick walls. His gloves are fingerless too, wrapped around the cups with just the white tips of his fingers peeking through, and they bear skeleton imprints. Gerard grins wider as he recognises them as coming from the Halloween box that they keep for the Haunted House. Except he is pretty sure they weren't fingerless to start with.

Not to mention he's pretty sure that one of the hoodies is his too.

“What is it with you and stealing my clothes?”

Grinning back, Frank shrugs and hands him one of the coffees, leaning in close as he does so. As Gerard takes it and frees his hand, Frank steals his cigarette and takes a drag. He doesn't move back, instead crowding Gerard against the wall as he blows the smoke out slowly.

“Maybe I just like having you next to my skin. Hope that's not gonna be a problem for you.”

Laughing, Gerard steals back his cigarette and taps the stray ash off, rolling his eyes. “Okay, enough with the cheesy porno lines.” Turning serious, his smile fades to a small, gentle curl as he regards Frank carefully. “How are you feeling, I mean, you were pretty dead on your feet last night. Hell, we all were really.”

“All the better for seeing you,” Frank smirks, slipping his coffee onto the small ledge just inside the shop door and wrapping his arms around Gerard's waist. Gerard's coffee almost spills at the move, his arms stretching out on instinct to try and avoid burning Frank with either the coffee or the cigarette, even as he laughs again. Stretching back to put his coffee beside Frank's, and leaving one arm outstretched with the cigarette a safe distance, he wraps the other around Frank as best he can in an awkward hug.

“Seriously, what the fuck Frankie? Not that I'm not pleased to see you too, but- Frank!” Gerard cries out and bucks away as Frank's hand slips down to grab his ass. “Stop that, I'm supposed to be working!”

“Everyone deserves a break,” Frank murmurs against Gerard's jaw, kissing his way across it. “I'll be quick, promise.”

Twisting his way out of Frank's arms easily, a slight flare of blue pushing Frank back, Gerard stumbles to the side and stubs out the cigarette quickly, tossing it into an overflowing ashtray outside the door. “No. Not here, not... What's gotten into you?”

Shrugging, Frank leans back against the wall lazily. “It's not like it's nothing we haven't done before. Just thought I'd share my good mood with you, that's all. But if you don't want me-”

Frank grins as Gerard quickly grabs his arm, not too tight, just reassuring and holding him in place. “I always want you, I just... Not here. And not... I'm feeling a little out of sorts after last night and just...”

Frank's grin turns wolfish as he slips his way back into Gerard's space, tilting his head to the side to regard him. “Last night was... I can still feel you, you know,” Frank whispers, wrapping his fingers through Gerard's and bringing their joined hands up between them, fisted against his chest. “Inside. Under my skin, making me feel like I can do anything, like I'm invincible. I don't know how you handle it, so much power. It's incredible.”

Frowning slightly, Gerard tightens his grip on Frank's arm, holding his hand firmly. “You felt that? How? I mean, is that supposed to happen?”

“I dunno,” Frank admits, raising one eyebrow. “It's not like last night wasn't my first time too. I just know how I feel and I feel fucking amazing. Can't you tell?” Twisting, Frank untucks his fingers from Gerard's and places Gerard's hand flat against his chest. “Can you feel me?”

Swallowing hard, Gerard nods, flushing as he tries not to notice just how close Frank is, how much he wants him. “Always.”

“Good.” Frank keeps on grinning as he steps back, moving away and reaching for his coffee again and taking a long, slow sip. “Then maybe we can meet up later, find somewhere to go, somewhere nice and quiet...”

Nodding in spite of himself, Gerard grabs his coffee too and gulps some down, welcoming the distracting heat and bitterness of it. It's good, it's a good coffee, but it's not quite right. Glancing at it, he looks at Frank's.

“I think I got yours.”

Shaking his head, Frank frowns a little, his smile fading at last. “Nope, this is definitely mine. What's wrong with yours?”

“I don't know, it's just, I guess Mikey must have missed something out.”

“Oh, mystery solved then, it wasn't Mikey, it was that Jimmy guy. Mikey isn't there.”

“He's supposed to be,” Gerard frowns, patting down his pockets for his phone. “Why wouldn't he go in?”

“Maybe he is still tired from last night, doesn't he usually crash after heavy shit?” Shrugging, Frank finishes his coffee, flicking the lid off with a practised nudge of his thumb to get the last dregs out. “Sure he's fine.”

“Yeah, I guess...” Gerard hesitates, checking his phone for messages before putting it away again. “I just... I've been feeling a little weird today, like, I dunno, something's changed. Earlier I, it was more powerful than before, my skills I could-”

“I'm sure it's nothing to worry about,” Frank cuts him off, crunching up the cup with a sigh. “Look, if you're so keen to get back to work I'll catch you later I guess.” Tossing the empty into the bins in the alley, he starts to turn on his heel only for Gerard to snag his arm.

“Frankie, don't be like that, what's gotten into you today?”

“I just wanted to spend time with my so called boyfriend, okay?” Frank snaps, pushing him away again. “I feel like I'm coming out of my skin here, like I can smell you on me, like I can feel your eyes on me even when I'm alone.” 

He can't meet Gerard's gaze, can't let on just how much his fingers are aching to just reach out and grab him, spin him round and force him against the wall and take him just to get the release, to try and get rid of the building pressure under his skin. It's gone from being a pleasant hum of contentment to being an all out craving, a need that's driving him crazy.

“Frank,” Gerard sighs softly and pulls him back, tucking him into a tight embrace, burying his nose in Frank's hair. “Fuck, I guess we have been a bit distracted lately huh?”

“No shit,” Frank mutters, burying himself in Gerard's scent, nuzzling at his skin as best he can through the layers of clothing covering his chest. “I just... Last night was incredible and I could feel you so clearly and I want, I just want-” Breaking off, he kisses up Gerard's jaw, ignoring the faint scratch of stubble (very faint, but hey, even Gerard can get a light dusting sometimes even if it's not as much as Frank gets in the same timescale). “I need...”

“W-What do you need?” Gerard asks at last, coffee long forgotten and dropping to the alley floor with a splat, unnoticed by either of them.

“You...” 

Groaning loudly, Gerard runs his fingers through his hair and glances around the alley guiltily, as though expecting an army from the Westboro Baptist Church to suddenly appear at any second. Whether they would hate him more for the witchcraft, the gay, or just being an actual human being is debatable but then Frank's palm rubbing against his crotch pushes all such thoughts away. “You're fucking killing me here Frankie.”

“What do you think you're doing to me, Gee?” Frank whispers back and just like that Gerard's willpowers tucks its tail between its legs and skitters off into the distance. 

“Charlie's going to kill me,” Gerard mutters, but then all thoughts of Charlie slip out of his mind as he fists his hand in Frank's (stolen) hoodie and drags him back into the shop, the door slamming shut behind them.

And his lunch break definitely takes longer than fifteen minutes...

********************************************************

Charlie doesn't kill Gerard, but his pay check most definitely gets docked – or, more accurately as that wouldn't exactly be fair, Charlie instead refuses to reimburse him for the paint he's using on Counsellor Troi. Which isn't so bad, and does just about equate to the cost of reshipping the orders he's fucked up. Or will be if he can ever master 'sultry gazing right at you ' eyes instead of 'creepy house of horror follow you round the room eyes'. It's not like he's had much practice with the former. 

Still, by the time he's finished being reamed out for the wrong orders, and for shutting the shop for too long over lunchtime (and if he ever finds out who told, they are so getting their next comic 'accidentally' torn as he bags it), Gerard is exhausted again and can't wait to get out of there and see Frank.

Which doesn't happen as Frank's mom is, to put it mildly, still pissed with him. His ass is so grounded that he may as well have been chained to his bed – something he has thought about from time to time, but never with his mom in the picture. So after an apology text to Gerard, Frank resigns himself to Saturday night TV with her and a long talk about respect being earned and underestimating his powers and just because he got away with it this time doesn't mean he will always be so lucky, yadda yadda...

Still, the tingle in his skin is fading slowly but the memory of it remains, the feeling so unlike anything he's ever experienced. It can't have ever felt like this to her or she wouldn't have given it up, and yeah, he can feel the pull of it demanding he do it again and again, but just because she couldn't handle it doesn't mean he can't. She was alone, he has Gerard and the guys to keep him grounded. He can handle it.

And maybe next time it might last longer or at least he can time it for when he and Gerard can explore the after effects properly. In the interests of science of course.

Mikey sleeps most of the day, emerging at sunset with a jaw cracking yawn and still clear head. It's strange, the house silent but he can feel the traces of voices as though through an open window. They are soft still, less overwhelming, and for the first time in over a year Mikey feels like he can deal with this, that maybe he is strong enough to cope without his brother as a safety net. That maybe when he graduates he actually has a choice over what happens next, that he isn't tied to this town, to this life, to Gerard, forever.

Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing, Mikey loves him and all that, but he loves his folks too and doesn't want to live with them forever either. 

Ray doesn't sleep, but he can still feel the nightmares at the edge of his eyes, lurking behind his lashes with every blink. By the time evening comes around he is almost dead on his sleep and, as much as he hates to resort to it, he swallows a couple of sleeping pills to take the edge off and help him get some sleep. They help him drift off, but the nightmares swallow him whole still, trapping him within them until the sunlight returns.

Bob finishes his shift at the garage and locks up with a whistle on his lips as he heads home, his 'home' tools and new fittings for drapes in the passenger seat. It's been a pretty good day, the work easy, his dad in a great mood, and generally life is good.


	2. Chapter 2

“Another week huh?” Mikey asks as he takes the bundle of paper off of Frank and shoves it in his bag. It feels like forever since they have seen each other, Frank grounded over the entire Christmas break, but apparently his Mom is pissed enough to carry the punishment on into the new year too.

“Worse, two, Mom freaked again. I did try to tell her she only said she wanted to know if I was doing magic in the house so technically-”

Mikey snorts softly, a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth the only other outward sign but laughter rings loudly in Frank's head all the same. “Bet that went down well.”

A rueful grin flits over Frank's face as he rubs the back of his neck. “'Bout as well as you'd think. With extra yelling about she'll give me technicalities, and seriously, what does that even mean?”

“Other than you're grounded?”

“Well, yeah, that, obviously,” Frank admits, shifting his bag on his shoulder and looking up at the school walls as they approach. “No phone, she changed the wifi password again, and I gotta be home and by the phone anytime she calls after school. Wouldn't be so bad if I could at least email Gee about this stuff from school-”

“But no mentioning the M word online,” Mikey says softly. 

“Yeah, paranoid much? Ugh, I hate Mondays.”

“At least you won't have any trouble with the undead diva today.”

“A-fucking-men to that.” Before they get too close to the crowds, Frank's hand shoots out, his fingerless gloves wrapping around Mikey's padded sleeve as best they can to stop his stride. “By the way, meant to ask, were you okay after it? Gee said you were supposed to be working that Saturday.”

Nodding just once, Mikey raises an eyebrow a little. “Just crashed. Some idiot sucked all the energy out of me on the Friday night and I didn't feel like working.”

“That's nothing compared to what Gee sucked out of me on-”

“Shut the fuck up now, Iero, or I swear I will tell him about that crush you have on James McAvoy-”

“Fuck you, Mikey Way, that's a low blow. 'Sides,” Frank adds as he starts to walk again, the bell making him hurry towards the building at last. “What makes you think he doesn't already know? And maybe have one on Michael Fassbender in turn?”

With a shudder, Mikey strides into the school after his laughing friend and really wishes someone had invented brain bleach already, as that is just one of a thousand mental images he really doesn't want.

**********************************

Frank tries to pay attention in class, honest he does, but his mind keeps wandering. The tingle of the exorcism is faded now, just the memory of it left, but he can feel the sense of peace where the ghost used to be. Not to mention Marie seems so much happier, even more than she has been since moving desks.

Of course that could have something to do with the way Nick's eyes keep meeting hers, but Frank reckons it's the ghost being gone that's made the biggest difference.

The sense of _quiet_ lingers in all the places he'd seen her, and he finds himself blowing off the others and killing time between classes on his own, drifting over to the drama hall to find the frame that had kept her here. The rose is quiet now, still, just the faintest trace of residual energy in it but it makes Frank smile. It was bittersweet that she couldn't have lived, but hey, at least she was resting now.

It isn't until he's heading back down the corridor that he spots another frame, some local battle of the bands or similar, and stops dead.

Bert. 

It's the first time he's been confronted with actual proof that Bert ever existed, and judging by the way he looks in the photo it was taken only a short time before his death. As weird as it is to see Bert actually alive, he doesn't hold Frank's attention for long as another familiar face leaps out at him. Gerard is right there, front and centre, hands held up as he dances at the front of the crowd, his eyes locked on Bert's and his face-

Frank isn't even aware of his fist hitting the glass until he's already done it, and he tries not to be too disappointed that it barely even creaks at the blow whilst his knuckles really sting. The jealousy is so strong, it takes a real effort to bite it back, but Frank quickly walks away, fingers fisting around the strap of his bag even as they brush over the fading scars on his chest.

He can't see Gerard again for a whole two weeks, and to be honest he'd pretty much planned to spend the time sulking in his room and watching bad TV, but now a new project is forming in his mind. 

After all, one good exorcism deserves another...

*****************************************

Mikey tries not to grumble as the car pulls up outside the garden, the headlights of other cars shining into the hedges and providing a path to see by as the Collective gathers. He's tired, hasn't studied for a pop quiz that is totally going to come up tomorrow knowing his luck, and has had to put up with both a steadily moodier brother and friend as Frank's grounding goes on. He doesn't need this tonight.

Stepping out of the car, Mikey braces himself as Gerard slides out the other side, their parents chatting quietly as they lead the way. They pass Mr Bryar still in his car, radio on as he reads the paper but he grins at the boys as they pass. As they walk through the gate into the garden, Mikey can feel the steady push of other minds against his, familiar and strong and not threatening exactly, but tight. It's a little claustrophobic.

Just as he thinks it might get too much, Gerard's hand slides into his and grips tight, the voices snapping out and providing a respite as they take their places in the wide circle spread through the garden. Bob nods at them from across the circle, his mom beside him still protecting her sore side but looking so much better and giving them a wide smile and nod. The Toro family is there too, some anyway, Ray flanked by his folks and looking a little pale in the rising moonlight. A few other local families make up the rest of the group and the stragglers fill in the gaps in the circle until at last it is complete.

With a perfunctory nod and greeting, Nonna Way steps into the centre and begins the spell, lighting stick after stick of herbs and passing them out to members of the group as the rest join hands and begin to chant, the thrum of power passing back and forth. Mikey feels Gerard pull back slowly, bringing him back into it again, and it feels good, strong, connected to everyone around him. The white smoke blows steadily around them, not rising up like it should but instead spinning around the circle like it's a ball in a roulette wheel, increasing speed as the chanting continues.

As the spell reaches the end, the smoke ring begins to rise, spreading out to form a dome over the group before rising higher, spreading thinner as it grows and even when it is no longer visible Mikey knows that it is simply a larger dome over the whole town. The spell, the white net of smoke, will protect the town and help hide it from dark magics and influences, Ray nicknaming it a perception filter like in Doctor Who but Mikey preferring Douglas Adams' quirkier 'somebody else's problem field'. Whatever they call it, the effect is the same – as is the spell.

The final spark of light from the centre marks the end, as though the snap of energy at the back of his wrists like a static shock wasn't enough of a clue. With relieved laughs, the group breaks up, dropping hands and the families with young children to get to bed heading off quickly, others lingering as though it's just another barbecue or mixer.

Mikey looks up at the call from Bob just in time to see him leaving, his arm around his mom. She looks tired but well, a little drained from the spell but okay, and rather than hold her up Bob just waves goodnight and takes her back to their car. Eventually it's just the Ways left, Gerard sitting bored against the gateway and gazing up at the moon as they wait for their folks to finish up. 

It's only when they get home that Mikey realises Ray didn't even come say hi afterwards, but figures they probably had to rush home to get back to his little sister. After all, it's not like Ray would ever try to avoid him.

**********************************

Ray can't stop shivering on the ride home, arms clutched around himself and ignoring the concerned glances his dad keeps throwing him on the way. With barely a goodnight, he hurries to bed as soon as he can, stripping out of his clothes wearily before burrowing under the covers, the spell weighing heavily on his mind as he tries to reconcile the images of the evening's spell against the ones that haunt his dreams.

The collective. He's sure now, what he's been seeing is the collective in his dreams, his visions, filling his mind with the sound of chanting and a spell. The words are not ones he recognises, not the protection spells or white net, the feelings not the sense of peace and safety he associates with group castings but deeper, more primal, more urgent. It's not a spell of defence but of attack, and it is focused, directed against a single person. 

The dream isn't clear, just a figure in black at the centre of the circle, but he's sure of it, he knows what the outcome of the spell will be. The figure will die.

Closing his eyes, Ray fights between the urge to surrender to the dreams and try to decipher them, to figure out where or who the unknown threat is, and the urge to stay awake and avoid the fear and pain he knows will accompany them. He doesn't know who is in the centre of the circle, he just can't _see_.

He just knows he is terrified of losing them.

********************************

Ray is so tired by Friday he can barely focus on his work, the letters drifting in front of his eyes. It's all he can do not to just close his eyes and curl up in the back office. He almost cries with frustration when they put him on teller duty, a mistake with Mrs. Hart's deposit leading to him being yelled at for a good ten minutes before his manager intervenes and switches him out to the back – after a 'chat' about not having too wild an evening, making sure he's fit for work, and all that BS.

Ray wishes he could blame this on alcohol or a fun night, but it's so far from the truth it's not even funny. Resting his head against the top of a filing cabinet for a few minutes, he closes his eyes and feels the momentary relief from the effort of keeping them open. It's not until a gentle hand presses against his back that he even realises he's been there for slightly longer than a couple of minutes.

“Ray?” Shaking off the tiredness as best he can, Ray straightens up and smiles as one of his colleagues, Linda, holds out a mug of coffee to him. “You look like you could use this.”

Nodding gratefully, he takes it and downs half of it in one, the burn in his throat helping to chase away the tiredness. “Thanks. Didn't sleep too well last night.”

“Happens.” Watching him drink, Linda folds her arms across her chest and frowns a little. Ray likes her, she is a fair bit older than him and a working mom, but still young enough to get into full on arguments over the best rock music with him. She also doesn't pull her punches. “Make sure you're on top form tomorrow though or people are gonna start to notice. Everyone forgives the occasional bad day, but do it too often-”

“I know,” Ray admits, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, be better!” She teases, whacking him lightly on the back of the head, her hand practically bouncing off his hair. “Whatever's bugging you, if you're sick go see a doctor. If it's a girl, she may not be worth it.”

Ray snorts, when does he ever get a chance to date?

“And if it's a guy-” Ray laughs out loud this time and shakes his head, making her smile again. “Yeah, didn't think so, but never hurts to cover all the bases. You look stressed, why don't you come over for dinner one night, maybe a change of scene will help. Plus I can continue your musical education, seriously, your taste kid.”

“Is just fine, thanks. But I might take you up on that dinner offer and then I can teach _you_ a thing or two about music, old timer.” Finishing the coffee, and getting another clip round the head for his trouble, Ray hands the mug back gratefully. “In the meantime, I'd better get this finished up.”

“You do that, and make sure you get some sleep Toro, you look like shit.”

“Yes ma'am.” Watching her go, Ray takes a deep breath and goes back to the filing, forcing himself not to check his watch to see just how slowly the time is going as he moves through the alphabet.

*********************************

Frank doesn't usually read that much, especially on a Saturday, but the combination of being grounded and the horror of daytime TV is making him pick up bad, Gerard like, habits. It's either read or jerk off in frustration at finally having a hot, willing, (and fucking magical in ways besides the Witch powers) boyfriend that he can't see for at least another week, and whilst jerking off is at least a temporary relief, he'll get sore soon if he's not careful. 

Besides, Bob's family journals ain't exactly harlequin romances. Bob's family is pretty badass, the journals covering a multitude of talents and experiences, including some pretty full on (and fucked up) encounters with WitchFinders. The stuff from Bob's great uncle is the most helpful though, building on the bits of theory Mikey and Gee have taught him so far about his skills. 

The chants are all pretty basic – yeah the Bryar family (or, more accurately, as the magic comes from Bob's mom the 'keeps-changing-surname-every-couple-of-generations-which-is-a-pain-in-the-ass-to-keep-up-with' family) are cool, but poetry is really not their thing. The stuff does kinda make sense though, even if the words stick in Frank's throat a bit. Sending on ghosts with love, seriously? Where's the chants for get the fuck away from my boyfriend you skeezy stalker?

Still, there's useful bits in there, especially about the combinations of herbs for making those plaits Mikey has been teaching him to make, smudge sticks or some shit like that. The ingredients all look straightforward and like the stuff he knows the Ways have, so he makes a few notes in his notepad and decides to ask Mikey to sneak him a bunch to practice with. If he's locked up here, he may as well practice his mixing skills as well as his plaiting skills.

Mikey had, with a completely straight face, offered Frank a My Little Pony doll to practice plaits on, which, nope, was not something he was doing. That was just... Yeah. Instead, a bunch of strings, shoelaces, and some random knitting wool his mom had tried to learn to use for a short while, hang down off the end of his bed, looped around the bars so he can split out the little groups of three to try and work with. It's hard, plaiting not really a skill he was raised with, but he's getting a little better with it.

Sort of. The big lumps and occasional missed loop are getting fewer as he goes on, but holy crap is it hard and his fingers are starting to cramp worse than when he first picked up a guitar, or after an XBox marathon.

So, plait practice is on his list of key things to work on, and the list of herbs and their 'special powers' in his book is growing, little stars marking those that sound best for trying to get rid of pesky spirits. The chants are copied out and maybe adjusted a little to make them more Frank like, and he already has some of Gerard's notes on the symbols for the ground, but like Gee said, a simple circle is good enough for Frank on his own.

“It's good to see you taking your skills seriously, Frank.”

Frank doesn't jump or even look up from the strands of black, bright red, and even skull covered shoelaces hanging down over his lap. Biting his lip between his teeth he concentrates hard on twisting one length over another with his thumb and forefinger, before snagging it with his other hand and pulling it tight. “Thanks, Bill.”

The guide crouches down beside him, looking at the plait and nodding in consideration. “You're improving fast, just try not to be so tense-”

A glare from Frank makes him stop. Stepping back, William peers down at the notepads and diaries spread out over the bed, considering. “Oh, the Brown guide, I knew him, it was a great loss when the gift died out in their line.”

Frank pauses in his plaiting and looks up, surprised. “You know other spirit guides?”

Shrugging, William 'sits' on the bed. “Not in the sense that you know other mortals, but our lines were in the same collective once. When my charge, Alicia, and his were together we were aware of each other.”

“Could you talk to him?”

Smiling slightly, William considers. “Not in the same way that I am talking to you now. Michael and I, or indeed any other spirits, we... We do not need words, but we can communicate more directly, and we can interact in a way that is similar to physical form.”

“You can touch?”

“In a manner of speaking. It is more like the memory of touch, but after so long without it can be quite sufficient.”

Snorting, Frank turns back to his work. “I'll bet. I thought you said spirits didn't have a sex drive.”

Rolling his eyes, William leans over the end of the bed and just stares at him. “Try going without any physical contact for a few decades and then tell me if a hug is sexual or just a way of knowing you are not entirely alone.”

Shivering at the thought, especially as just a week without Gerard is enough to have him plaiting like a little girl, Franks nods just once. “Point taken. So were you, y'know, close?”

“In a manner of speaking, but only for a brief time and our responsibility is to our charges, our families. When Alicia had her first daughter I was passed on. By the time she came of age our lines had moved apart and we did not meet again.”

“Sorry.”

William laughs and leans lower, a quirk of a grin on his lips. “Don't be. I can freely admit that it would be nice to meet another spirit guide again at some point, but I am content as I am. I have few needs, Frank, beyond the knowledge that my charges, my family, is safe and well.”

“Yeah, well I've got needs and my Mom seems determined to keep me from doing anything about them.”

Laughing again, William sits back up again. “The joy of being a parent, and the joy of being a child.”

“Being told what to do is a joy? Yeah, right.”

“You will learn soon enough that having full control of your life isn't as much fun as it seems in youth. The responsibility, having to watch out for yourself, sometimes I think we are in such a rush to grow up we then spend the rest of our lives craving the chance to be young again.”

“Or alive?”

“That too,” William admits, starting to fade a bit around the edges as Frank starts to tire. “I should leave you in peace before I exhaust you, but it is good to be able to start to talk to you at length. And do not blame your mother too much, she is only doing what she can to protect you. I wish sometimes that her parents had tried as hard to do the same.”

“Tell me about them sometime?” Frank asks quietly, looking up at his guide as he starts to fade away.

“I will. Bye for now, Frank. And don't let your thumb drop too low...”

Looking down at the plait and returning to his work, tightening a loose loop of shoelace, Frank rolls his eyes. “Everyone's a critic.”

***************************************************

Ray spends most of the weekend in bed, trying to catch up on some sleep, or spacing out to old DVD's. It's quiet, peaceful, the excitement of the previous weekend fading away to feel almost like an episode of some TV show rather than reality. His family are busy, his sister rehearsing for a play and his mom off at some painting course. His dad is around but they are both enjoying the chance for some solitude too much to get in each other's way. It's nice, the perfect weekend for some R&R.

If only he could sleep for more than an hour at a time it would be perfect. Instead, Ray settles for curling up in a nest of blankets staring at the screen and drifting off when he can for 48 hours. He never sleeps for long, but the amount of cat naps add up to something approaching a decent level, even if the killer migraine they start to trigger makes it harder to focus, TV switched for books and soft music, then the radio when even that is too much for his eyes.

Ray's drowning, he can feel it, the lack of decent sleep making his skin crawl and his mind wander in crazy ways, but he can handle this, he has to. He almost gave in and asked Gerard for help, but with Frank grounded and Charlie in a foul mood Gerard's been picking up extra shifts and needs Sunday to recover his own strength, let alone worry about Ray's problems. 

It doesn't matter, Ray can handle this. He just needs a few more hours and he'll be okay. It will stop soon.

It has to.


	3. Chapter 3

By Monday Ray just about makes it through to lunchtime before he almost passes out at work, (in the middle of the damn lobby), and promptly gets sent home. He really hopes he didn't fuck up the filing too much as the letters were swimming a bit by the end and it's a son of a bitch to find a misfiled case. He's beyond exhausted and can't even find the strength to walk home. Instead, collapsing in the staff room, he flicks open his cell and thumbs off a quick text, praying he is making the right call.

The response comes straight away, just three words that make him smile. _On my way._

Ray grabs his bag and heads out the front, letting the brisk air wake him up a little bit as he tries to stand upright without swaying, hiding against the building to stay out of a light drizzling of cold rain. Seriously, he hasn't been this bad in ages, if he can just get one night's sleep without the dreams maybe he can stay sane. Maybe.

He sees them even whilst awake now, seemingly everyday things triggering what feels like flashbacks or deja vu. It's stupid things, like one number jumping out at him from an accounts sheet, or the sweep of a black umbrella being shaken out, that make him want to reach out and stop that second and place it, figure out what it means.

The sweep of Bob's tyres pulling up to the kerb drift into his mind and make him look up, drifting gratefully towards the passenger door as it swings open. It seems overly complicated trying to strap himself in but he finally manages it long after Bob has set off again without a word. Secure at last, Ray lets out a shaky sigh and lets his head fall back against the window.

“Thank you.”

“You're a fucking idiot,” Bob mutters, but Ray can feel the warmth behind it. “I've cleared it with dad, so I can stay with you as long as you need.”

“Bob, you don't-”

“For fuck's sake Toro, I'm not proposing marriage or offering you my first born, I'm just gonna try and make sure you get some fucking sleep before you go all trigger happy again. Just wish you would let us help before you get this bad, you know you're gonna need Way to sit up with you now.”

“I don't- He's got enough on his mind at the moment, I don't want to bother him.”

Bob curses as they pull up outside Ray's house, and slams the door before coming round to help him out. “You are not a bother, you're our friend, now get the fuck in that house and get ready for bed before I have to strip you myself.”

Snorting, Ray tosses him a salute before trudging up the steps to the house, letting Bob take the keys off him to save them standing outside for an hour waiting for Ray to manage to open it. As Ray climbs the stairs he can hear Bob moving about in the kitchen, the beep of the buttons on the microwave harsh in the quiet house. It doesn't usually take him long to shed his work uniform, and swapping pants for pyjamas takes no time at all, but the buttons on his shirt are almost too much for his tired fingers to manage. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ray is still fumbling with them when Bob returns, two mugs of something hot in hand, and an exasperated look on his face. “Toro, you can be so useless sometimes.” Putting the mugs down on the dresser, he crouches on the carpet and swiftly finishes undoing the shirt. Pushing and pulling it off Ray's arms, Bob tosses it into the hamper before grabbing the well worn t-shirt off the bed and holding it out for Ray.

“I can manage,” Ray mutters, shivering a little from the cold air and exhaustion even as he gives up and holds out his arms for Bob to guide into the shirt.

“Yeah, sure, obviously, I could see that from the doorway. Just shut up and get on with it.” Ray's hair pops through the neck of the shirt almost comically and Bob gives him a fond smile before manhandling him under the covers and retrieving the mugs. The warmth is soothing as Ray wraps his fingers around it and breathes in the steam, raising his eyebrows at the smell.

“Nonna Elena?”

Nodding, Bob clinks their mugs together gently. “Just a little soother, she makes it for mom for the full moon since it stresses her out a bit. It's mild, no worse than Nyquil, but tastes a Hell of a lot better. 'Sides, you've probably taken enough of that shit to be immune by now.”

Not denying it, Ray shrugs and takes a sip, letting the warmth slide down his throat. It doesn't take long to drink but he can still barely manage to keep his eyes open long enough. Bob takes the mug back before it can drop onto the sheets and quickly guides Ray to lie down, adjusting the covers around him before taking up position on the floor beside the bed.

“Thanks,” Ray mutters, already half asleep, and reaches out to place his hand on Bob's shoulder.

“Don't mention it. Ever.” Bob waits until Ray starts to snore softly before pulling a well worn Stephen King novel off the bookcase and making himself comfy. He usually has maybe an hour before the first dreams will hit, though it might be faster if Ray has let this go on so long. Still, there should be time for a few chapters at least.

******************************************

The first set of dreams come after only a couple of chapters, Ray starting to twitch in his sleep, his breathing faster as he begins to turn. In an instant Bob is there, clambering up onto the single bed beside him and wrapping a steadying arm over him lightly, linking fingers through his.

“Toro, it's okay, you're safe, everyone's safe. Come out of it man.” Ray fights him for a few seconds, trying to escape from his grip but Bob doesn't move, doesn't flinch even when Ray kicks him in the shin (even through the blankets that hurts.) But Bob just stays steady, still talking calmly and smoothly until the movement stills again and Ray starts to calm. Ray's skin is flushed and sweaty but his hair is the same as always, trying to wind its way into Bob's mouth as he leans close.

Bob ignores the tickle, ignores the throb in his leg, until he is sure Ray is fully asleep again. Only then does he let out a sigh of relief and pull back a bit, giving Ray room to move away again, hoping for his arm back. Instead, Ray's grip tightens even in his sleep and, with a soft grunt, Bob resigns himself to being there for the forseeable future.

Which, when in bed with a Seer, could actually be a fucking long time.

********************************************

Mikey sighs as he looks down at his basket of fries and the creeping wave of fingers trying to snatch them away from him. Resisting the urge to snatch the whole basket up and start hissing at them like Golum, he contents himself with slapping at Brendon's hand when it comes too close until the younger boy gives up and goes to buy his own.

“Seriously man, how does he stay so skinny when he eats like a fucking horse?” Frank asks quietly, grinning as Brendon fights through the queue to pick up not one but two baskets of fries. 

“By never sitting still for more than two seconds at a time, he's like the energiser bunny.” Looking at the basket, Mikey considers it for a moment before grabbing more vinegar. “'Sides, I don't care as long as it's his own food he's eating.”

“He never steals mine,” Frank says with a smirk, his own vegan... thing in a bowl staring back at Mikey unappetisingly.

“Yeah, can't think why.” A smack to Mikey's arm drags a small smile out of him, before a beeping from his pocket makes him fish out his phone. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

“It's Bob, Ray's sick. Sort of.”

“How can you be sort of sick?” Frank says through a mouthful of his lunch, “what's he got, a cold in half his head only?”

Thumbing a quick reply, Mikey shakes his head, glancing up to judge how long they have alone before Brendon manages to get through the line and back to their table. Long enough.

“Ray isn't sleeping, his visions are pretty bad at the moment and he can't sleep properly. He can handle it for a while but eventually that level of sleep deprivation'll make you sick, sleep's kinda an essential thing.”

“Shit.”

“It's okay, we'll take care of him, Gee can sit with him and block his powers long enough for Ray to get a decent sleep. I'll talk to him tonight and arrange it, but it won't be possible until the weekend, Ray will just have to hold on 'till then.”

“It's Bert isn't it?” Frank mutters darkly, “he's been messing with Gee, now he's messing with Ray too.”

“What?” Mikey frowns, only half paying attention as he texts his brother. “No, it's just-”

“Make sense, Ray was fine until I started attracting Bert's attention to us, it's that undead fucker again.”

“No, Frank, it's not like that-” 

Frank shushes him as Brendon slides back into place opposite them, almost cackling as he regards his two bowls of fries before grabbing the ketchup and smothering them in careless abandon. He's halfway through stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth before he even notices the silence and looks up, frowning slightly before swallowing and smiling, nudging his basket forwards.

“Fry?”

 

***********************************************

Bob has almost dropped off himself, lulled into it by boredom and the warmth of Ray's bed, when he hears a door slam downstairs and the loud thuds of running feet making their way closer. When the bedroom door almost slams open, he's torn between the urge to try and hide or to try and make some kind of joke about it. But teasing fourteen year old girls is really more Gerard's forte than his.

“Hey Victoria.”

Rolling her eyes, the girl stays in the doorway, hands over her face but peering through the gaps in her fingers suspiciously.

“You are dressed, right?”

Huffing out a sigh, Bob takes a moment to extricate his non death gripped hand and flip her off, earning him a chuckle. “Just checking. Looks cosy, and y'know, takes a lot to make golden boy skip work. Figured maybe finally getting laid might do it.”

“Shut up,” Bob murmurs, and the stir of voices is enough to make Ray relax his grip and roll over, finally releasing Bob. “I'm on guard duty.”

Her expression changes instantly, fear and worry replacing default teenage judgement. “Dreamwatch again already? He only had one a few weeks ago.”

“Before Halloween.”

“Huh.” She pauses, considering and counting with small nods of her head. “Okay, starting to get what you oldies mean about time going faster as you get older.”

Resisting the urge to smack her, or at least throw something at her, Bob huffs. He's not sure of the etiquette about hitting girls – okay, the etiquette about hitting _girls_ he knows, hitting your friend's annoying younger siblings is another matter. He could noogie Mikey half to death and Gerard wouldn't bat an eyelid, but Ray's baby sister? Maybe not.

Carefully shifting off the bed to drop onto the floor again Bob stretches out then glares up at her. Seriously, the girl could give hipsters a bad name, her skinny jeans a step up from the denim shorts she'd been sporting all summer, and the checked shirt should've looked too hillbilly or lumberjack but it sort of works.

If he hadn't known she was almost blind as a bat, he'd assume the large framed glasses were a fashion statement but nope, just Tori. (Why she would choose to abbreviate to Tori Toro he had never been able to figure out.) 

Speaking of figuring things out...

“Why are you bursting into Ray's room anyway?”

“Gaming, duh,” she announces, pointing at the console plugged into a small TV in the corner. “But if sleeping curly over there is sick again-”

“Nah,” Bob says with a grin, “company soothes him, you know that. Put something a bit quiet and non flaily on and I'll join you.”

Grinning, and with one last look at her brother to check he really is okay, she drops to the floor and quickly sets up the game with scarily practised movements. 

Shuffling back to lean against the edge of the bed, she passes him a controller and, as she does so, a large copper coloured pendant hanging around her neck catches his eye. It's so unlike her usual taste it stands out.

And, to be frank, it's pretty hideous.

“Nice, gift from a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, like I would date anyone who thought this was a good look.” Tucking it out sight under her shirt she sighs with a deep and tragic air. “Dad's making me wear it. For 'protection'.”

Bob can practically hear the eye roll that accompanies that, it's so over the top.

“Protection from what?”

“I dunno, bad mojo I guess.”

“Guys?”

“What, like my big brothers aren't enough to put anyone off as it is? Dunno if this is _supposed_ to guard against them but it's so hideous it does anyway.”

“Suits you,” Bob smirks, earning him a kick and yep, he really, really needs to check the fine print on those 'how much damage I can cause to your younger sibling' rules.

Then again, kicking her ass at Halo will probably suffice.

**************************************

By the time Ray starts to stir again, Bob is almost grateful for the excuse to stop. It turns out you should never underestimate the gaming skills of a teenager, even a girl. It's just as well gamers are just too busy for world domination or Tori would be a force to be reckoned with and, really, whilst they all joke about what they would do if one of them ever went evil, taking down Tori just isn't something Bob fancies doing.

Or, more worryingly, might even be capable of if she ever uses as much violence with her gifts when they kick in as she does with her gaming.

“Die, die you Mother-”

“Tori.”

“-Hugger.”

“Better. Where'd you learn that language anyway?”

Snorting, Tori rolls her eyes without even breaking her concentration on the game (or, Bob is sad to note as his character takes another direct shot, her aim). “I have brothers. Plural. All older. You work it out.”

“Yeah, well, no reason for you to-”

Bob breaks off as Ray moans in his sleep, the sound full of pain and fear. Instantly the game is paused and Tori scrambles to her feet.

“Ray?” She's pale, scared, but Bob can't waste time on her now as he kneels at the side of the bed and assesses Ray for a moment. Some of his visions and dreams are mild enough to be slept through, or at least mild enough that he can be helped back to sleep after. Some are vivid enough to wake him, to let him bring the knowledge back with him and to remember their warning.

Others though, others are so strong he needs help to escape from them before he hurts himself, the things he sees too strong for him to find his way out. Those dreams are rare, and usually only when he's a wreck like he is now, but they have all learned the signs the hard way.

And Bob can see them all too clearly.

With a snarl, Bob stretches up, grabbing Ray's wrists as he starts to flail, his mouth open wide on a cry or scream but nothing coming out. Bob can feel Tori behind him, almost vibrating with nervous energy and unable to stop fidgeting just in the corner of his eye. It's really freaking annoying.

“Tori, I'm gonna wake him, can you grab a couple of glasses of water? With ice. And a washcloth, damp but warm.”

“O-okay.”

As soon as she scurries away, Bob clambers up onto the bed, kneeling on the edge as far out of Ray's reach and kicking range as he can on such a small mattress, shifting to hold Ray's wrists in one hand. The covers take a couple of good tugs to wrestle clear of Ray's body but are quickly tossed to the floor, the loss of heat not even noticed as Ray writhes and starts to mumble.

“No... That's not gonna.... Have to... Stop, no, please, stop- Frank!”

Ray's eyes open but Bob's seen this before and doesn't stop, letting go of his arms and pulling the pillows out from under Ray's head and quickly stuffing them between Ray and the wall to soften the impact as his knees and elbows strike it.

“Ray, come on, wake up, you're safe.” The eyes don't see him, still focused on something else, but Ray's hands slow, reaching out and Bob grabs them again, holding them up to his face. “C'mon buddy, wake up. It's me, you're safe.”

Slowly letting go of Ray's hands, Bob smiles as they stay in place and the haze in Ray's eyes lifts a little. “There you go, come on, it's me, Bob.”

In fairness, the punch that impacts with the side of Bob's head and sends him sprawling to the floor isn't really Ray's fault. Doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt though.

***************************************************************

It takes three glasses of water (and an ice pack for Bob) before Ray can calm his breathing enough to talk properly. Banishing Tori to her room isn't too hard, her experience of Ray in this state telling her to get out of his way, but Bob isn't going anywhere anytime soon. And as Ray is awake again, at least for now, he will need to talk about it before he tries to sleep again. That's how it goes, if he wakes, he has to talk about it or write it down to get it out of his system. That's the way it's always been so Bob sits quietly, waiting.

And waiting.

“Come on then,” he grumbles at last, shifting to sit at the foot of Ray's bed and watching as his friend hides behind his glass, his hair, anything and everything he can to avoid Bob's gaze. “What'd you see?”

“I... I don't remember.”

“Liar,” Bob chuckles, “you've been avoiding getting help from us and now I reckon I know why.” Leaning closer, he whispers conspiratorially. “You talk in your sleep, and unless you're nursing a fucked up crush on Iero I'm guessing you've seen something about the kid's future.”

“I.. I don't know.” Bob starts to talk but Ray looks up at last, earnest and frustrated as he slams the glass down on his bookshelf. “I don't _know_ , every time I try to read Frank it shifts, but everytime I sleep I see the same things but they're different and I don't- I don't know which is going to happen and fuck it Bob, I'm terrified.”

Taking a deep breath, Bob reaches out and grabs Ray's hand, holding it tight. “Tell me. What do you see.”

Ray shakes his head, his free hand pushing his hair back. “I... just pieces, fragments. I see flowers. Fire. I can hear snatches of words, chants, and music, but it's not- I-” Pulling his hand back, twisting free of Bob's grasp, Ray hides his face in his hands, his voice muffled by them. “I can't make out any details, just feelings.”

“Okay, what feeling?”

“Terror. Loss. Pain. And guilt, so much guilt, 

“And Frank?”

Ray shudders, his hand shaking as he drags it through his hair. “It keeps changing, I don't – It's not even really Frank, although it is, I know somehow, it starts with him, but it's also Gerard, half the time I'm scared for him, like really worried and the rest of the time I'm-” He breaks off, shaking his head.

“What?”

“I'm terrified _of_ him,” he blurts out, “like, proper, full on, run away scared of what he's gonna do and his eyes-”

Bob leans closer, bumping his shoulder against Ray's. “You wanna try and get some help from the collec-”

“No!” Ray explodes quickly, shaking his head. “No, we can't- I don't know what's going to happen, I swear to God, I wish I did, I have to try and find a way- But that, the collective, that makes it worse, every time, we can't tell them Bob, please, promise me-”

“Shh, it's okay, it's okay, chill, we'll leave the oldies out of it. I'll keep an eye on Frank, he's grounded this week so even he can't get into too much trouble. We'll figure it out. You still need sleep though, let me talk to Gee-”

“You can't tell him anything about Frank-”

“What am I, stupid? When does he ever pry? Mikey on the other hand...”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Might be better if you just come clean now and get it over with. He's gonna find out, he might even be able to help you figure it out.”

“I...” Ray hesitates, looking lost as he buries his face in his hands again. “Fuck it, Bob, I don't _know_ , it's not like my usual visions, it's not... It's not set, and if I make the wrong call I could make it worse, I could _make it happen_.”

Wrapping an arm around Ray, Bob leans in closer, shrugging. “Stop that. Whatever happens, it's not your fault Ray, you see shit, you don't cause it. We'll figure something out. Might have to wait till the weekend to get Gee to stay with you though, he's in enough trouble with Charlie as it is without taking more time off, can you last out until then?”

“Do I have a choice?” Ray sniffs miserably and tucks himself in closer to Bob.

“Not really. You wanna try and sleep again? Won't be long 'till your folks get home so...”

“Yeah,” Ray agrees, reluctantly sliding down out of Bob's grasp to lie on the bed again. “Bob, would you...?”

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence before Bob is moving down to lie beside him. It's snug in the single bed, forcing them to practically spoon, but neither of them says a word, just offering and accepting the embrace easily as exhaustion carries Ray away once more, in spite of the fear still thrumming through him.

***************************************

It's dark before Ray's parents get home but they are there in a moment, gliding almost soundlessly across the floor with an ease borne of long practice and having lots of kids in the house – and magic of course, although that's really only in the case of Ray's mom.

It takes a couple of tries for Bob to extricate himself from Ray's bed and let Mr Toro take over, the man shifting to sit upright against the wall next to Bob's feet. Bob hands him the horror novel with a grin, but with a flash of light the book changes into a Tom Clancy as he hands it over. 

“Show off,” Bob whispers, getting a small grin in return before their attention returns to Ray. They watch, making sure he is settled again, before Bob creeps out with Ray's mom so she can show him out.

The thing Bob tends to forget about Mrs Toro though is that the stealthy floating thing isn't her only power. Being an only child he forgets sometimes about the way that being a mother affects a Witch, at least, one who hasn't passed on her powers.

“It's going to get worse, Bob.”

Bob freezes in the doorway, his hand pulling back from the catch, and looks over his shoulder at Ray's mom. She looks tired too, a little drained somehow, but strong. He can almost feel the power in her, not just her own but a fragment of each of her son's powers too, and swallows as he twists to face her properly. “What do you mean?”

“I can't see what he's seeing,” she says slowly, measuring out her words with care, “I only have the faintest trace of his gift, but I can see darkness coming. It scares me, Bob, my family is spread out and my daughter is still too young to defend herself, but what scares me the most is that I think you all know something and yet none of you are talking about it. What's going on?”

“I can't-”

“Bob, please-”

“Look, it's nothing, we don't know anything, even Ray can't work out what he's seeing, but I promise you, if I ever thought Ray or Tori were in danger I would help protect them, I swear.”

She watches him silently for a moment, then reaches out for him, grabbing his hand and staring at it intently. Forcing himself not to react, Bob watches, then breathes out a sigh of relief as she smiles. “Yes, you would. You will.” Letting his hand go, she nods and lets him back away to the door again. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” With one last glance up the stairs – and catching a glimpse of Tori lurking on the landing watching him – he heads out into the night to his own bed.

 

*************************************

Linda Iero has already had a long day before she even gets home and all she wants is to kick her shoes off, have a cigarette or a drink, get the feeling back into her fingers and toes from the cold night, and just _sit_ for a bit before starting dinner. 

She did not expect the Spanish inquisition, but then again, who does?

“Mom!” Frank jumps the last three stairs and lands with a thud that makes the floorboards creak and really, if she has to replace them she is going to dock his pocket money for life. Or at least remind him of it at every opportunity and start displaying his embarrassing baby photos prominently around the house.

“Frankie, I just got home-”

“No, that's good, right, you go get changed, I'll make you a cup of tea, I made a start on dinner for you so you just relax and-”

He stops short as her hand reaches out and grabs his face. “No, you are not forgiven for running off and performing a very dangerous exorcism, and yes, you are still grounded.”

“Mom,” Frank manages to get out even though she is squeezing his cheeks and making his lips into a bizarre figure 8. “You're too suspcious.”

At least she thinks that's what he's saying, what comes out is more like “mm er ooo sspss.” Letting his face go, she contents herself with folding her arms across her chest even as Frank drapes his over her shoulder and guides her towards the stairs.

“Can't a boy do something nice for his mom?”

“A boy, maybe, you?”

“You wound me mom, you really wound me, like, right here,” Frank cries melodramatically, thudding a palm against his chest. “Harsh.”

“You'll live,” she mutters before slipping out of his grasp to climb the stairs. “Forget the tea and get me a beer, okay? I feel like I'm going to need it.”

 

*************************************

A change of clothes, thick warm socks and a cold beer later, she sits at the kitchen table watching Frank hack peppers to within an inch of their lives to the beat of a local radio station in the background. “So? What's all of this about?”

The frantic knife slashes slow, and then stop as Frank looks up. “I need to ask some questions. About magic.”

Sighing, she takes another long sip of her drink. “I've already told you everything I can remember, it was so long ago Frankie-”

“I know, I know, I don't mean details, I just... You were pretty out of it before and I figured maybe now you've had a chance to think you might be able to go through it again. Properly.”

“Frank-”

“I know it's hard but-”

“Frank!” Slamming the bottle against the table, Linda shakes her head. “Frank, I'm sorry but I've told you everything I can already, I just don't remember most of it.”

“Yeah but you were raised with this stuff, your folks must've taught you things when you were a kid, your collective-”

“I guess, but it's all so muddled and if I told you the wrong thing that would be worse than nothing at all-”

“So, what, you won't help me?”

“Frank!” She snaps at last, pushing back from the table to stand. “Your powers, you're messing with incredibly powerful forces, the spirit world has its own rules and doesn't forgive foolhardy little Witches easily. The wrong thought, the wrong move at the wrong time and you can unleash something far more powerful than you are on the world, and spend the rest of your life trying to atone for it, but you can't-”

Looking down she takes a deep breath before meeting his gaze again. “Practice what you know, what your friends have told you, and keep them close by. They... They're good boys, they will take care of you. They can teach you much better than I ever could, and I wish I could- I do wish with all my heart I could be the one guiding you through this like I should be but I _can't_. So just drop it, okay?”

Nodding, Frank turns back to the dinner as she sinks down into her seat again. “So,” she tries, forcing a cheery tone into her voice. “How's school?”

Snorting at the obvious change of subject, Frank nevertheless nods and starts to tell a story about Brendon, a ukelele and a slightly traumatised drama teacher...

 

***************************************

Gerard sighs as he comes out from talking to Charlie and really, he can completely understand the guy's frustration. Having to take a Saturday off is gonna cost him big and for the first time Gerard starts to wonder if it really is possible to have magic and a normal job. His folks have been self employed for a few generations and Mikey just picks up casual shifts for now, but he really thought it wouldn't be so hard to hold down a simple retail job and be a Witch.

School was hard enough, his grades freefalling in his final year and leading to resits but most of that was blamed on the accident so it wasn't a huge deal at school and he can explain it away on a resume, coming back from a traumatic experience and all that shit. Helping Mikey out when his powers kicked in, that was another major dip, and after the Wolf he wasn't exactly on form, and _none_ of it was his fault! But even Charlie's losing patience now, and seriously, that guy's so chilled he's practically frozen in Carbonite. 

But now Ray needs him, and Mikey still needs him and Frank...

Frank _wants_ him, which is a whole different distraction of its own. The desire burning under his own skin really doesn't give a damn what Charlie wants, what anyone thinks, it just wants Frank. Now. Later. Forever.

Shivering, Gerard bundles himself up in his layers, wrapping two scarves around his throat against the chill and resigns himself to working every single hour possible over the next week so he can take the Saturday off.

At least when this crisis is over he should be able to see Frank again, and as he walks home through the building frost Gerard lets his mind wander to much warmer thoughts of just how that particular reunion is going to go.

Of course, not one of them comes anywhere close to the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to say I have no idea about the real Toro family - basically if the info isn't widely known on the boy's families I have not pryed and instead gone with headcanon/what makes sense for this universe. So no, I have no idea if Ray actually has brothers and sisters but I do think he would make an amazing big brother and I like the idea of him being part of a huge family. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Mikey is minding his own business the next day when Frank jumps on his back on the way through the halls, interrupting a very pleasant yawn and denying him the satisfaction of the stretch and relax of it. Glaring, Mikey bounces him off with a well practised move and thinks something very unflattering (and anatomically impossible) at his friend.

“Hey! Uncalled for!” Frank squeaks through his laughter, wrapping an arm around Mikey's neck. “Listen I got a favour to ask you, since I'm still grounded I figured I'd make decent use of my time-”

“If this is some kind of sex joke, I am out of here.”

“No way, you're definitely the wrong Way!” Messing up Mikey's hair, Frank leans in closer and pulls a crumbled up sheet of paper from his jeans. “I need you to get me some supplies, y'know, magic stuff.”

A couple of seniors passing by give Mikey a double take and he sighs inside. Oh goodie, now everyone is gonna think he's a drug dealer, like he wasn't weird enough as it is.

“Frank-”

“Nothing too odd, just the regulars, sage, sweetgrass, some Jupiter-”

“Juniper,” Mikey correct automatically with the faintest smile.

“Whatever, there was some kind of blue crap all over the page messing up the handwriting on that one. You know what I'm on about though.”

Nodding, Mikey smoothes the list out then folds it neatly and slips it into his own pocket. “I'll try. Thistle might be tricky though, it's not really on my usual list so Nonna might notice if some goes missing.”

“Eh, I can work around it I'm sure, I'm just practising.” Frank's voice lowers slightly, although as far as Mikey is concerned the time for discretion has come and gone. “Although I did want to talk to you about something. About... anchors.”

Raising an eyebrow, Mikey just stares at Frank as he is guided out of the hallway and out into the freezing air. 

“I've been trying to like, figure out what they are, what keeps spirits here. Doris was fairly easy, but I was thinking, what about Bert-”

“Frank-”

“No, hear me out, I was thinking, he doesn't really have any likely object, I mean, any keepsake or that sort of shit his family would've taken with them, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mikey admits, trying not to remember the haunted look on Bert's mom's face the day of the funeral or the way they left town not long after. Too many memories or something like that. 

Mikey had to admit, it had taken time for him to get used to seeing Gerard without the all too familiar shape of Bert sprawled over him too. All the places they had all hung out, the times the two of them had smuggled him into the movie theatre underage or let him follow them, skateboard in hand, they had become too painful to go to for a while. At least Gerard had survived the accident mostly intact, Mikey couldn't begin to imagine how hard it had to be for Bert's family.

Shaking off the memories, Mikey hastily tunes back in to Frank's rambling.

“- I mean, I've only really seen him at the cemetery, or my bedroom but my house is like right next to it so I figure it's within his, like, range or whatever. So that's gotta be the answer!”

Mikey looks at him blankly. “What is?”

Punching Mikey in the arm, Frank sighs. “His grave! His, like, remains, they're what the fucker's anchored himself to! I mean, he even sits on his own headstone, how big a giveaway is that?”

Nodding slowly, Mikey then turns it into a shrug. “I dunno, does it feel right, like the rose did?”

Thinking, Frank winces. “Well, no, but then again I could get up close and personal with the rose, and no way in Hell am I digging up Gee's ex boyfriend and playing Julius Caesar with his skull.”

“Hamlet.”

“Whatever. Look, it fits, I'm sure of it. So, all I need to do now is get my mojo on and boom, adiós motherfucker.”

“Frank-”

“Oh come on, you can't seriously tell me you like the idea of him hanging around Gee? He pretty much scarred me-”

“He might not've meant to.”

“Righhhhhht,” Frank drawls, folding his arms across his chest and stomping slightly to keep warm, the chill air starting to sink through his many layers. “Look, I'm not saying I don't get that he was your friend, but hey, ghosts, sending them to happy ever after, that's what I'm supposed to do, right? And don't you want him to be all, like, heavenly and shit?”

Mikey hesitates, considering. Somehow it was easier when Bert was just dead, it was a fact, they had all had to just accept it and move on, but now there was a chance to have some – any – part of him back, and a choice about whether to keep him...

“Look, not right now, he's not doing any harm really, not now that we know he's out there so can keep an eye on Gee. So, we have time to think about this, and get you up to full strength, I mean, face it Frank, you haven't even known about magic for more than a couple of months and Bert is a full on, honest to God, free thinking ghost. And Gee-” He breaks off, catching the dark look on Frank's face, and sighs. “Just... Not yet. 'Sides, you're grounded for, like, forever. We should probably give your mom a chance to calm down before we work any more major spells.”

Frank looks blank for a moment, then just grins, free and easy, and shrugs although Mikey can feel a small corner of his mind shutting down, pushing Mikey away. “Hey, just thinking out loud, getting feedback, y'know. No worries, we leave it. So...” Draping himself over Mikey again, Frank moves them back towards the doorway just as the door crashes open and a line of kids traipse past. A couple of dirty looks are sent their way but nothing more than that, and Mikey can feel Frank's tension building and fading again, his grip tightening. “You gonna at least give it to me Mikey Way?” Almost purring, Frank leans in close just as half the cheer squad saunters past. “You know I need it bad, baby.”

Sighing, Mikey elbows him hard and slips out from under Frank's arm but not before hearing the ewws from some of the girls. Really, he doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that he isn't getting any action there anytime soon.

Although, as the last girl passes him, her sleeve brushing against his as she throws him a small smile, he catches sight of the faint flush on her face and-

Huh. Who knew appearing to be gay could have THAT effect on a girl.

Maybe his bucket list goal of hooking up with a cheerleader before graduation wasn't gonna be a complete washout after all...

*************************************************

Frank did not squeal when the first plait he tried to light combusted with a little more... oomph than he had intended. Nope, no way. He did however have to open all the windows on the top floor and actually consider lighting up a cigarette to try and cover the stench of dead plants and burnt hair.

Okay, so maybe _if_ there _was_ a squeal, at least it was more than a little justified. Especially as he's now missing the tips of his hair on one side. Maybe he should just shave that side off, make it look more like a fashion statement than a hideous accident.

By his fifth attempt though, the plait in his hand is smoking gently, a long grey curl drifting up through the air and gathering on the ceiling before sliding along towards the open windows. The cemetery is quiet tonight, no breeze to make the few remaining leaves on the trees talk, but Frank can still hear the very faintest whisper of the ghosts outside continuing their vigils. It would be too quiet without them.

Which reminds him, he must have to test the battery on the smoke alarm again soon, the amount it's gone off today has probably killed half the charge...

Letting his wrist circle in slow arcs, Frank watches the effect on the smoke, trying to follow the diagrams in the old journals. Clockwise to protect, cleanse and sanctify, anticlockwise to banish dark energies, flicking towards the sun for healing, towards the moon for power, north for clarity, south to spread confusion or shake off a pursuit- As much as he loves his watch with the phases of the moon and all that on, a compass would be useful too. The old plastic one on a keyring he dug out from a drawer in the kitchen is drifting a little off kilter and he has a vague memory of Gabe messing with it with a magnet.

“Hey Bill, don't suppose you've got any innate directional skills in your mix do you?”

Laughing, the guide fades into presence in front of Frank and raises his hand to pass ineffectually through the curl of smoke. “Sadly not, although sunrise and sunset are a start. If I ever thought you had seen a sunrise I would suggest you start there-”

“Hey! I've seen sunrise!” Grinning, Frank shrugs. “'Course I was on my way to bed at the time and not really focusing on the whole marvellous miracle of nature shit.”

Sighing, William turns on the spot and looks at the window, considering, before orienting himself in the middle of the room with both arms extended, one palm down and the other palm out. “North. South. It's only an estimate of course, so maybe a compass would be a suitable investment if you wish to pursue those spells.”

“Just practising my wrist action.”

“In a more suitable way than usual I would wager.”

Sticking his tongue out, Frank flicks the smudge stick back and forth and watches the pattern in the smoke, considering. “Whatever works. Hey, does this look better than the last exorcism, I think I'm getting the hang of what this thing is supposed to look like.”

William nods, his fingers now tracking the smoke again. “A little tighter circle... Yes, better, now with a flick... Yes, you are improving.”

“Cool, gotta get this stuff down quick.” Frank stares at the smoke, intent, and misses the odd look Bill gives him.

“Why the rush?”

“Huh?”

“Why the rush, your skills need to be honed, of course, but there is no great urgency. You also have school, your friendships, they are important-”

“Next you'll be telling me to clean my room.”

Glancing at the pile of laundry stacked up in a haphazard landslide against the wall, William raises an eyebrow. “It wouldn't hurt. A clean space lets the energies flow better, assists with rebuilding your strength-”

With a soft huff, Frank lowers his hand and dips the end of the stick into a glass of water on his chest of drawers, enjoying the hiss and damp smell as it goes out. “I'm not planning on carrying out any exorcisms in my room, and where I'm headed has plenty of wide open space for the force to find me Yoda.”

“I don't... Yoda?”

“Mom never showed you Star Wars huh? Look, point is, I gotta get better at this if I'm gonna do any good. And if the housework slides for a bit, who cares?”

“Your mother?”

“Well then she'll have something new to ground me for won't she?” Frank replies bitterly. 

“Frank, your mother-”

“Look, just drop it, okay?” Frank starts stuffing the leftover supplies into an old brown bag and rolls the top up with a touch too much force, making it rip. “I got enough to think about right now without my Mom's baggage on top, I already got it from her with the whole 'you need to be more careful' and 'magic is dangerous' shit. So if that's all you gotta say, you can fuck off.”

When Frank turns round again, the bed is empty and he lets out a slow huff of air. The only person apart from his Mom he was gonna see at home and he's pushed him away.

Throwing himself down onto the bed hard enough to make it creak, Frank rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fuck it.”

****************************************************

By Friday Mikey is sure of it. Frank's avoiding him. Sort of. Not in the sense of staying away from him, they still walk in together and they are sitting together at lunch and all that but there's a distance.

Frank's not taken his gloves off around Mikey all day. He is sitting diagonally across from Mikey and when they both reach for the ketchup Frank pulls his hand back so fast it's like he's been burned and the look on his face, that flash of guilt and panic-

Frank's there but he's _avoiding_ Mikey, he hasn't _spoken_ to him all day, and that morning there was no jumping on his back or grabbing his arm or anything.

* _Frank?*_

Frank looks up from his lunch but only glances at Mikey before looking away again, just a small shake of his head but enough to get the point

Snorting to himself, Mikey turns his attention back to his lunch, figuring the sulk will wear itself out eventually, but he is still relieved when the handful of notebooks is passed over again at the end of the day. Sulky Frank is one thing, sulky Gerard is quite another and the weekend is gonna be stressful enough as it is. Watching as Mikey tucks the books safely away, Frank shuffles slightly, fidgeting with his hands deep inside his coat pockets.

“So you're all gonna be at Ray's this weekend?”

Oh. So that's it.

“Yeah, we're just gonna sit around and watch him sleep really. Gee makes sure Ray can sleep, we make sure Gee stays awake, and take care of Ray when he's conscious. It's pretty dull-”

Frank smiles a little and shrugs. “Sure. Look, just, uh, tell the guys I said hi, okay? And, uh, I'm sure everything will get better soon. Ray, I mean.”

There's something else, something held back, but Mikey just nods and lets it slide. They all have their secrets and issues after all.

“Will do. Take care, man, see you Monday.”

Mock shivering, Frank grins with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, freedom at last. Tell Gee to get ready to have his -”

“Lalalalalala!” Holding his gloved hands over his ears Mikey laughs as Frank full on giggles, the tension fading a little at last. Waiting until Frank's obviously stopped, Mikey drops his hands. “Don't. Do. That.”

“Sorry, couldn't resist.”

“Try harder.”

Grinning evilly, Frank nods and leans in closer but still not touching as he drops his voice and whispers. “That's what your brother said.”

The physical contact of Mikey's hand against his hat isn't enough to get a read on him, but it is at least enough to make him flinch for a wholly different reason.

 

*****************************************

Gerard makes sure he gets a ridiculously early night and sleeps like the dead but still can't help yawning when his alarm goes off Saturday morning. It's early, the sky still mostly dark outside, but still a little bit of a lie in compared to if he was working instead. Not that he isn't working, after all, just not his day job. It's his 'calling' instead but damn it, it doesn't exactly pay well.

Rolling out of bed, Gerard drags on a pair of briefs and warm sweatpants quickly against the chill in his basement and stumbles towards the stairs, pulling on a hoodie as he goes and tucking himself under the hood. The faint smell of coffee is drifting down and he lets it guide him up to the kitchen like a cartoon character following fresh apple pie. Mikey is already at the table, fingers wrapped around one mug whilst Gerard's Batman mug sits steaming opposite him.

With the barest of grunts of acknowledgement, Gerard slides gracefully (okay, sprawls in a heap) in the chair and starts murmuring sweet nothings to his coffee before he takes his first sip. Mikey is not even batting an eyelid at the display, all too used to his brother's caffeine addict ways, but he watches closely as Gerard practically inhales the scalding brew. Finally starting to wake up, Gerard stretches his neck out, rolling his head on his shoulders before pushing back his hood at last and meeting Mikey's gaze.

“Morning.”

Mikey grins (or more accurately the corner of his mouth twitches) as he nods in reply before pulling two clear glass bottles out of his bag by his feet and putting them on the table. Whilst both have a metal and rubber clamp stopper on top, like an old fashioned lemonade bottle, their contents are most definitely not anything Schweppes has ever marketed. One bottle has what looks like a weird green protein shake in it, a thick looking mess of obliterated plant life lurking in it, whilst the other is decidedly brown and there are still visible leaves smeared against the glass in places.

Pulling a face, Gerard reluctantly accepts the brown filled bottle from his brother. “This stuff tastes as foul as it looks, wish Nonna could someday find something that's good for you that actually tastes like it's bad for you, McDonalds style.”

“Dairy isn't exactly complementary to the recipe,” Mikey says drolly, before sliding the green bottle back into his bag for Ray. “Least that stuff will help keep you awake today.”

“So would six cans of Red Bull, and at least that mixes well with vodka and coke.”

Rolling his eyes, Mikey pushes back from the table and grabs his bag, starting to raid the cupboards for food supplies for the day. Still grumbling slightly, Gerard gets up too and pours himself another coffee from the French press on the side. The last drips safely captured in his mug, he struggles with the bottle stopper for a few minutes before with a loud pop it finally comes free. Sniffing the top of the bottle Gerard winces again.

“I really hate this stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up and take your medicine.”

Pouring out a couple of tablespoons of the brown liquid, Gerard swallows them in quick succession, fighting his gag reflex as long as he can, before chasing the taste away with a strong swill of coffee.

“Bah!”

“Good boy.” Shutting his bag, Mikey looks round the kitchen before nodding to himself. “Get dressed, Bob will be over in half an hour. I'll get the essentials.”

“Magic potion, check. Cleansing smudge sticks?”

“Check.”

“Cheetos? M&Ms? Pop Tarts?”

“Check, check, and gross but check.”

“What we missing then?”

Raising one eyebrow, Mikey just looks at him. “Avengers Boxset and extra controllers for the Xbox.”

“Ah, the real magic.”

“Exactly.” Gerard accepts the shove in the direction of his stairs and nurses the last dregs of his coffee as he heads down and fights the urge to just crawl back into bed. It's going to be a long day.

 

***************************************

It's quiet when they arrive at the Bryar house, Tori safely packed off to friends for the weekend, and Bob's parents looking exhausted from sitting up with Bob whenever they can over the past week. There are heartfelt thank yous, open invitations to raid the freezer, and then the Bryars are gone, safely off to a motel for a long sleep of their own.

Gerard watches them go with mixed feelings, feeling unworthy of their obvious gratitude, but when he sees Ray he feels even worse. “Fuck, man, you should definitely have called sooner.”

Ray can barely keep his eyes open, his eyes red and raw as he leads them back into the house and up to his bedroom. “Didn' wan' bother you,” he slurs, heading straight for the bed and throwing himself back under the covers again with a waft of clean linen. Ray's mom had thrown him out of bed just long enough to change the sheets and greet his friends but it's a nice touch, and one that Gerard for one appreciates as he sits on the edge of the bed beside Ray.

“You are never a bother you blithering idiot.”

Ray snorts sleepily as Gerard makes himself comfortable, the noises of Mikey and Bob stockpiling their food supplies downstairs thudding through the air. “Wha's blithering even mean anyway?”

“Something about talking complete and utter nonsense, which is what you're doing. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

“Keep the dreams away?” Ray whispers quietly, already halfway under and Gerard nods as he watches, his hand reaching out to rest on the duvet covered lump that is Ray's shoulder.

“I'll keep them away. Just sleep. We'll watch over you.”

The only response is the steady sound of Ray's breathing as, with a soft sigh, Gerard concentrates and pulls Ray safely inside the bubble of his shields, blocking his powers, safe in the knowledge that, at least for this moment he can protect his friend from the darkness.

 

*****************************************

Ray awakes slowly, the sun dipping below the level of his bedroom window as he does so and casting a few last weak rays across the room. Gerard is sitting on the bed beside him, his back against the wall by Ray's head and his arms and ankles crossed as he watches the small TV, a little frown line between his eyes the only betrayal of his concentration. It takes Mikey looking up at the sound of Ray stirring and tapping Gerard's leg to get him to look down at Ray, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Hey, welcome back. You've been out for about twelve hours, you want something to eat yet?”

Stretching lazily, Ray rubs his eyes and shakes his head, still half asleep and the drag of it pulling at his senses. “No, just bathroom.”

Snorting, Gerard slides his legs off the bed to let Ray clamber off, taking advantage of the break to pull his shields back from their bubble around Ray and drop completely. Mikey blinks as Ray and Gerard pop back into existence in his mind and smiles as Ray stumbles across the room, Bob catching him before he slams into the doorframe and helping him out the room.

Even as Bob takes care of Ray, Mikey scrambles closer to Gerard and sits beside him on the bed, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing his back gently. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” Gerard murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning back into the touch. “Bit drained but I'll be fine, I can do another ten or so hours before it gets really bad. Could do with a sugar hit though.”

Nodding, Mikey rises to his feet and stretches too, his top riding up and exposing a sliver of skin over his hips. Unable to resist, Gerard reaches out and pokes him, making him double over again. “Fucker.”

“Not until Frank's mom stops grounding him,” Gerard grumbles, “more's the pity.”

“Too much info,” Mikey says, heading out the door, passing Ray and Bob in the hall on the way back. Ray still looks half asleep, leaning heavily on Bob, but the shadows under his eyes are fading and there is colour in his face again. Bob gives him a look as they pass, and Mikey nods in reply, adding a glass of water to his list of supplies from the kitchen. 

By the time Mikey comes back, Ray is already sitting back in bed, half under the covers and being pushed and pulled into place by Gerard and Bob. The water is cold and makes Ray startle slightly as Bob presses it to his lips but then his hand comes up and wraps unsteadily around the glass, helping to guide it. Gulping it down in one go, Ray drops almost boneless back into bed and barely stirs as they tuck him in again, Gerard resuming his position on the bed, his hand resting easily on Ray's shoulder.

Gerard waits until they move away again, resuming their positions on the floor and out of range before he takes a deep breath and focuses, expanding the bubble of his influence over Ray's form. Once it is in place he blinks slowly, feeling the strain in his body and mind and the drain on his energy, but settles back into the cushions. 

Mikey passes up a bag of chips and some candy, the sticky sweets promising temporary help at least, that Gerard accepts gratefully. Ray is already recovering fast with the dreamless sleep soothing his body and mind, and with a quiet round of rustling and clinking as his friends settle back down again with fresh snacks, they go back to the movies.

******************************************************

As the sun sets, Frank double checks his bag once again, the can of salt sitting on top of the twisted plait of herbs and straw he spent most of the week trying to get right. He can hear his mom downstairs, settling in for her favourite shows, and he can't help feeling a twinge of guilt at what he is about to do.

“If you know you shouldn't do this why are you?”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Frank glares over his shoulder at the shadowy form of William in the corner of his room. The spirit has his arms folded, a stern look on his face as he regards Frank, and even the parrot on his shoulder seems to be giving Frank a stern look.

“Look, I have to do this, so shut the fuck up or help me, mom said you can't actually stop me-”

“Sadly true-”

“So you have to help me-”

“No fucking way.” Frank grins and glances up again in shock.

“Billy boy, you swore!”

“You're a bad influence,” he replies drily, “and an idiot if you think I'm going to help you make such a huge mistake. Please Frank, just think about this-”

“I have,” Frank mutters, fastening his bag tightly and sliding it across his body. “Look, he's behind all this, he's making Gee- Ray's getting sick, if I can get rid of him then, then maybe...”

“Frank, please, I'm begging you, don't do this-”

“Bill, either help me or go, I'm doing this.” Rising to his feet, Frank crosses to the window and slides it open carefully, listening out for any sign of his mom noticing. “I have to. I have to try. Gee can't stop him, can't even tell when he's around, and I... I have to protect him.”

“Then let the others help, use a full group, Frank he's strong, he may be too strong for you-”

“Nah,” Frank grins, shrugging. “You saw me last time, man, I was on fire, I am so much stronger than that dickhead, and I'm only just getting started.” With a twist of his frame, he slides out the window and is gone into the dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realised too late I messed up the timeline and forgot about the Christmas Break so had to edit Chapter 2 to add it back in - I had no plans to do any real plot involving the holiday so have pretty much skimmed over it but might backfill a fluffy one shot later...


	5. Chapter 5

Frank's not sure at what point Bert suddenly pops into being, perched on top of his own gravestone as usual, but the chuckle makes him look up from the circle of salt he is pouring around the plot. The ground is hard from recent snow, but is unseasonably clear tonight, the grass glittering in the dim light. “So, what's this then... Oh wait, I saw this in a movie once, you're doing a circle of salt to protect yourself or block me in or some shit aren't you!” Bert jumps down easily, walking up to the edge of the circle and doing a mime act against it. “Oh no, the salt, it burns, I'm trapped, I'm trapped!”

Hopping over the circle, he pulls a shocked face and looks back at Frank as he finishes the line. “Oops! I escaped! Quick, I'd better get back in before the big bad witch gets me.” Doing a weird, skipping dance over the salt, Bert smirks as Frank silently moves to the centre of the circle and sits down, fumbling through his bag for his lighter and supplies. The salt water is a bit of a long shot, but taking the small bottle in his hand, Frank flicks it around the space anyway, a few drops passing through Bert's form and making him stop short, rubbing his leg.

“What the actual fuck?” Looking at his leg - or what was once his leg, Frank's not really sure about the whole physicality of a dead guy who won't fucking die - Bert snarls as he spots a small dot, like a cigarette burn, on the skin. “You little shit!”

Frank sits back quickly, holding the bottle in one hand with the plait of herbs inexpertly tied and resting between two fingers like a cigarette. He tries not to flinch as Bert approaches, flicking his lighter with his other hand and trying to get it to catch. 

“I'm gonna make you pay for that, you little-”

Frank ducks as Bert aims a punch as his face then grins as another arm blocks it smoothly. “If it's all the same to you,” William says softly but with steel in his voice, “I'd rather you didn't hit my great grandson. I know it's really tempting, believe me, as he can be an annoying young man, but believe it or not he is trying to help you.”

Bill steps forward, blocking Bert's path, even as Frank finally gets the herbs lit, the dry straw kindling catching quickly and the smell of burning sage, sweetgrass and juniper start to merge together in the air. It's kindof thick, heavy, and tickles Frank's lungs as he starts to chant, trying to get the words right, but unlike the girl Bert doesn't seem that bothered by it.

In fact, he starts to laugh.

“Seriously? You think you can fucking exorcise me like I'm some little pansy assed puritan bitch? Oh you are asking for it Iero, you are going to fucking pay!” Frank tries to focus, to not look up, but William's feet start to slip along the ground as Bert charges into him, the physical manifestations of their energy pressed up close together and fighting for dominance.

And by the looks of the way Bill is wincing and trying to brace himself, but his feet keep slipping back, Bert may be stronger.

“You think you can do this to me? You think you can just, what, send me on my way so you get Gee to yourself?” Bert is thrashing against Bill, throwing himself against the guide and snarling with anger. “He was mine first motherfucker, he was mine, he promised me, he is the asshole who fucking well did this to me, and you think you can just wish me away? You think Linda Blair had it bad, well watch the fuck out because I am going to _tear_ you _apart_ -”

Frank stutters over the words, fear starting to bloom within him. This isn't like before. This, this is like the difference between 1 + 1 and fucking algebra. Before he could feel the power growing within him, he could draw strength from everything, everyone, even the ghost but instead this time every single time he tries to draw on his power it's draining him, his arm growing weak even as he tries to hold the burning stick higher.

“You wanna know what it's like, huh, want me to slip inside you and tear you apart from the inside out because I can fucking do that,” Bert purrs, dropping his voice, the threat even more intense for the lack of yelling. “I can make it so you don't know left from right, I can make it so you lose your fucking mind, so you won't even need me to kill you because you won't be able to resist doing it to yourself-”

Frank can't find the words, his voice dying in his throat as he looks up, his whole body shivering with exhaustion and cold and he's afraid, really, fucking terrified, the emptiness of Bert's grey eyes locked on his seeming to draw everything out of his body, leaving him hollow. If this is what happened to his mom, if this is what she felt then in that second he can completely understand everything, the whole of his life, all of it, because he would do _anything_ to avoid feeling this again.

“Frank!” William yells, trying to keep Bert back but being forced down to one knee in front of Frank and tiring fast even as Sisky the parrot appears and starts attacking too, squawking around them, as if Frank's life couldn't get any weirder. “Go! Get back to your room, within the sanctuary space, _please_ , hurry!”

Frank wants to obey, wants to move more than anything else in the whole world, but his joints are mush, refusing to lock and support his weight, sending him sprawling on the ground in front of the gravestone, the salt water tumbling from his fingers and spilling over his hand. He can barely see, his vision starting to spark out at the edges, his body numb as he tries to look up, as he can see William start to bend too far, losing the fight and suddenly fading out.

He's alone.

Then all of a sudden Bert's hands are on his throat and oh, God, it burns, it burns right down to his bones, to his core, the pressure fierce and hot and he can hear screaming, hoarse and desperate even as he lifts his salt soaked hands to try and push Bert away, to try and get some relief-

Then everything is black.

*****************************************

Mikey Way yells first, curling up on the floor of Ray's room, covering his head with his hands and staring at something none of them can see, reacting to something they can't feel but that is all too clear in his mind. He can't see, can't hear, can't feel any of the others around him, can't feel anything but the burning, then like a blanket smothering out the flames Gerard is there, wrapping over him, pulling him close. The silence is deafening, as intense as the pain had been, and Mikey can't stop his teeth from chattering, it's too much, the loss of stimulation as disorientating as the pain had been.

Then all of a sudden a shudder passes through him, but this time it's not from his own body although it takes him a second to realise it, too lost in the return of the world around him, the pain fading yet still there in the black waiting for him. 

No, not him.

As arms push him away again, new yells filling the room. Mikey scrambles back into the corner by Ray's bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his hands over his ears but he can't stop watching, can't take his eyes off the scene as Gerard begins to scream, shaking on the floor as though having a fit. It wasn't coming for Mikey at all.

It was coming for Gee.

**************************************

Gerard Way knows pain on a very... intimate level. It is the Hydra to his Captain America, the Spectre to his James Bond, the THRUSH to his Man From U.N.C.L.E. (which he will deny having ever watched if questioned!), the nemesis that haunts him and the enemy that he has to learn inside out in order to ever defeat.

Suffice to say, he and pain have been on a first name basis for years, and would be the subject of some very serious battles to the death and or hate sex, if it was actually possible to interact with a sensation.

It also has to be said though, that most of that knowledge has been gained second hand, watching and feeling the edges of pain's attack on others, Mikey and Pain in a steady and decidedly abusive partnership that Gerard has been forced to witness ever since Mikey got his powers. Yes he can offer a refuge, a safe place to escape to, but he can't watch over Mikey all the time and, like a seriously fucked up stalker who can't take a hint or a restraining order, pain often sneaks back in.

Gerard hates other people's pain so much. 

His own pain though, that has become mostly a memory. His body heals too fast now to really suffer for long, the sharper pains fading quickly and longer aches more a low growl than actual pain. He can remember it though, the pain from the crash the worst thing he has ever felt and the measure against which everything fucked up thing he has managed to do to himself since is measured. 

He can still feel the literally breathtaking thud of his chest hitting the dash, the sharp slice and explosion of glass cracking around his head, and the fiery scraping of limbs over gravel somehow familiar to old wounds from messing around on a skateboard and yet at the same time as distant from that as a paddling pool to an ocean.

That pain, that memory, still wakes him in the night sometimes, but pain in general has been steadily growing harder to recall.

This though, this pain is so much more than that _ever_ was.

Gerard can feel more than hear himself screaming, vaguely aware of the sound, but there is nothing else but the pain. His head is too small, too tight, his skin stretched and the pressure threatening to split his skull in two. He can feel it, crawling, squirming, like something is burrowing into his brain straight out of a bad sci fi movie. Except if something really was in his brain it probably wouldn't actually hurt _this fucking much._

He can feel his shields sparking uselessly, trying to defend him against nothing, but he's so sore, so drained and tired from watching Ray that his defences are nothing but so much tissue paper and he can almost feel them bursting into flames at the slightest touch. He can't even heal himself, can't find where the pain is coming from, because there is nothing there, just the pain, nothing else, nothing at all-

Finally, mercifully, a spot of darkness appears in the blinding storm of pain, a oasis of peace and nothingness, and quickly, gratefully, Gerard surrenders to it.

 

*********************************************

Bob likes to think of himself as a fairly unflappable kind of guy. The sort of guy who, when crazy shit happens or everyone around him is losing their head, will know what to do. And fuck knows, he has enough practice at it – you try living with a Werewolf and not learning to keep your cool in the face of pretty much anything. Not to mention the magic he has been exposed since birth makes it really hard to get wound up about stuff, really, it does. Even when Bert died, and that motherfucker had been Bob's friend first goddammit, he had barely even reacted, not in public anyway.

So yeah, Bob is a pretty grounded, laid back, solid, dependable kind of guy, the sort you really want around in a crisis.

But this? This is way too fucked up even for him.

One of his best friends screaming his throat out on the floor, thrashing like he's having some kind of fit? Fucked up, definitely, but maybe something he can deal with. He can't remember, are you supposed to restrain someone having a fit or just leave them to it, or maybe he's supposed to stick a pillow under his head or something, or was it putting a belt in his mouth so he can bite down on it?

Okay, so he can't deal with it, not really, he hasn't the first fucking clue what to do to help, but, okay, so, get down on the floor by him, try that pillow shit, try not to get knocked out-

Mikey, one of his other best friends (what, Bob doesn't like to play favourites, but maybe if he did the Way brothers would come a close second to Ray if only because, you know, they have each other and sort of come as a set) rocking back and forth in the corner like he should be in one of those old fashioned lunatic asylums, or a bad horror movie? Creepy, really creepy, especially as Mikey only stopped screaming just as Gerard started, and hey, that was how those bad body snatcher movies sometimes liked it – or was it another genre-

Focus Bryar, Mikey Way. Looking like a ghost, curled up like a scared toddler, and shaking like a plucked guitar string – basically looking as far from his normal almost zen like state as possible (short of running around the room screaming of course.) The way his hands clutch at his head, fingers white with the pressure against his skull, yeah, Bob's seen that before, more times than he cares to remember, and he can handle that, okay, so Mikey's bitten off more than he can chew, maybe gotten stuck in a corner of his own head again, he can handle that, just calm him down, just get Mikey to focus long enough to let Gerard block it-

Gerard, who is still screaming on the floor and, ow, has one Hell of a kick for a scrawny little shit.

Okay, help Gerard, who can then help Mikey, he can do this, he just needs a hand getting Gerard safe first, if Ray can just-

Ray, who is still _lying in his fucking bed_ just watching the whole thing through glazed eyes, as though out of his gourd on some seriously good shit.

Fuck. This.

Sitting back on his haunches, his hands rising to his hair of their own accord, Bob feels something inside him snap and that's it. He can't handle this, not even close.

Yelling in frustration, Bob shivers as he fumbles his phone, staring at the buttons and watching them swim slightly in front of his eyes. He doesn't even know who to call, there is no 911 for mystical emergencies, no heroes in capes or even just high viz uniforms and flashing lights to come to the rescue, he can't even call Nonna Way because Ray's warning about the collective is still fresh in his mind and it's too much, it's just-

Suddenly there is silence, a shocking end to the screaming as Gerard loses consciousness and it stops. The four of them sit frozen, like some sort of sick artist's imagining, Gerard's body slowly going limp even as Mikey's shaking gets worse, silent tears streaming down his face, splattering through his lashes onto the inside of his glasses. The silence is so complete, so solid it's shocking.

“I can't wake up.” Ray's whisper is so small, just a tiny sound but enough to make Bob jump. Ray is still just staring blankly at them but then his eyes flick to meet Bob's. “I keep trying, but I can't wake up. Why can't I wake up this time? Please wake me up, please don't make me watch this again, please-”

Dropping the phone to the floor, Bob scuttles backwards, not stopping until his back hits the wall and he can throw his arms around himself and just try to keep himself in one piece.

Bob Bryar can handle weird shit, really, he can. But this? This is too much.

At least it is until Mikey finally speaks again.

****************************************

“Frank.” 

It feels weird to talk, like his throat is red raw and on fire, but his face is wet and his nose is so blocked up he can hardly breathe, so how can his throat be dry? Weird.

Focusing on the sensations, on the sheer physicality of it, Mikey Way forces himself to move, each careful creak of muscle and bone – huh, his fingers hurt like he's been pressing them too hard against a surface, white numb and stinging as circulation returns, that's odd – he slowly shifts from his ball and tries to stand only to feel his legs give way. His foot is asleep.

Shifting to kneel instead, the needle sharp pressure of returning circulation sends a fresh wave of urgency through him and Mikey reaches for the bed, using the edge of the mattress to drag himself out of the corner – safe, still, stay still and safe, the corner is safe – and has to fight the urge to just let go and curl up again. He has to keep moving.

“Frank,” he tries again and this time he gets a reply, but it's not Frank, it's someone else. Huh.

“Frank's not here Mikey,” the voice says, and it sounds like Bob but not Bob, it sounds too freaked out to be Bob, Bob doesn't sound like that, “that's – that's Gee.”

Mikey would roll his eyes if they weren't having quite enough trouble staying in a straight line as it was thank you very much, and looks at the still body on the floor. Of course _that's_ not Frank, it's not like he doesn't know his own brother. Except for a second it doesn't look like Gerard, the shape wrong somehow, but it must be Gerard.

Besides, whatever it is, it certainly isn't Frank, he'd know that skinny assed lunatic anywhere by now.

“Duh,” he mutters, crawling slowly across the carpet towards the body. Person. Gerard. His brother, yes, Gee, that's where he was going but that's not the point. “Frank, he's not here. He's...” Mikey pauses, considering. “Not here.”

“Mikey?”

Shuffling slowly, and really, carpets, okay so they are easier on the knees than wood but really, a bit itchy, Mikey shakes his head. “Need to find Frank. He's not _here_. He was, or I was there, I'm not-” The thoughts slip around his head like stray bits of eggshell in a cup of yolks, evading him each time he tries to catch them and slippery when he does. “I'm not sure. But we have to find Frank.”

“Gee- Mikey, Frank's not here, we have to help _Gee..._ ”

Mikey looks up at last and hey, it IS Bob, but he looks really pale, even for Bob, were they trying out makeup again? Is it Halloween? That would explain the body. Person.

Gerard.

Shuddering, Mikey takes a deep breath and tries so hard to focus but it's so, so tiring, and he's so sore, does he really have to get up now?

Still crawling forward without really noticing, Mikey stops as his hand touches something warm. It's not soft, not exactly, but warm and without thinking he reaches out and holds it-

The flash of presence is enough to snap Mikey wide awake again, recoiling in horror but even as he does so Gerard coughs, wildly flailing as he wakes again too. Gerard's eyes are wild as he reaches out, grabbing onto Mikey's hand tight and oh God, it's too much, he can feel so much-

He can _feel Gerard_. He's never been able to, not all the way, not properly, but for one second he's _there_ , whole and so strong and familiar and yet at the same time nothing he's ever heard before and it's wonderful but there's something else there, something inside Gee, and is this what they mean about dark magics leaving a mark, this _thing_ inside Gerard and it's _looking right at him_ -

With a snap he can feel in the back of his skull like the flick of an elastic band, Mikey feels Gerard's shields come up and surround him and everything goes mercifully blank as he sags down against his brother.

“Gee,” Mikey whimpers, letting himself be soothed quietly, even as Gerard carries on taking gasping breaths and Bob comes closer. He can't hear the words, some sort of half whispered argument going on over their heads, but then there's warmth at his back and the soft tickle of Ray's hair on his face and oh, he can see Bob again now, on the other side of Gerard, talking to them all, but it's so far away and he's so warm and it's so _quiet_ at last.

Just five minutes won't hurt.

As he surrenders to the aches and exhaustion dragging him away, Mikey can't help thinking there was something he was trying to tell them...

*************************************

Bob watches as Ray finally accepts that he is awake and clambers awkwardly off the bed, wrapping himself over Mikey and tucking himself back inside the fragile protection that Gerard is offering, however temporary. They all seem to breathe as one, relaxing at last, but Bob can't let go, can't undo the knot in his stomach that is threatening to overwhelm him. How can they be so calm, how can they just _lie there-_

Scrambling to his feet, Bob bolts out the room and almost trips over his own feet as he runs to the bathroom, the door banging back against the wall as he barely makes it to the toilet in time to lose his lunch. It hurts, inside his chest, inside his stomach, all his muscles tense and clenching and he feels so indescribably _sad_ but he doesn't know why. It's too much, too physical, and he can't help the coughs that wrack him as he leans over the bowl. His gaze fixes on a cobweb hiding under the basin, focusing on it as he fights against the wave of nausea, just watching the way it drifts slightly in the faint draught through the open door.

“Bob?” Ray's voice is still weak, and his footsteps sound like they are stumbling, but then Ray is at the door. His arms are wrapped around himself in a vain attempt to keep warm, shivers running through him as his teeth start to chatter with him dressed in just his boxers and t-shirt. “You o-okay?”

“Do I look fucking okay?” Bob manages to spit out before flushing the toilet, watching his food disappear before using the basin to pull himself shakily to his feet again. “You saw this, Gee, you fucking _saw_ that.” It isn't a question but Ray nods anyway, jerky and sharp. “Why the fuck didn't you warn me?”

“I... I wasn't sure, I never- It kept changing, and most of the time it isn't Gee on the floor, it's Frank, it was just the feeling, that was what I've dreamed-”

Bob looks up and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and for a second, just a blink of an eye, he sees something behind Ray, in the corner of the bathroom, mouth wide and pleading.

A pirate.

“Oh, Hell,” Bob shakes his head quickly, rinsing his mouth out before pushing past Ray and back into the hallway.

“Bob?”

“Mikey!” Bob skids to his knees alongside the two brothers and none too gently shakes Mikey awake again, ignoring Gerard's feeble protests. “Mikey, you said Frank, Frank wasn't here, Mikey, where is he?”

Mikey curls up tighter around himself, shaking his head. “I don't remember-”

“Yes you do, dammit! Mikey, this isn't- What we're feeling, this isn't our pain is it, this is Frank's!”

“What?” Ray says quietly from the doorway. “What do you-”

“What hurts one hurts us all,” Bob says quickly, dragging Mikey up to sit upright and pulling him out of Gerard's influence. “Ever since we did that spell together, Hell ever since he _got_ here things have been going crazy, our powers have been all fucked up, and I think I know why. I think... I think Frank was our missing Witch, I think we're a coven.”

“Fuck me,” Gerard breathes quietly, his hands over his eyes as he continues to lie on the floor. “But Frank's grounded, what could-”

“Cemetery,” Mikey whispers, pale again and starting to shake. “He snuck out, he's at the cemetery. I think... I think he tried to exorcise Bert.”

“The stupid little prick,” Bob mutters, shaking his head again. “How did he even figure out what Bert's anchor is?”

“I don't think he did,” Ray says softly, staggering across the room and grabbing his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly. “I think that's what I've been seeing, why it keeps changing, sometimes we're there and sometimes we're not, but Frank always is and I, I think... I think he got it wrong. Really wrong.”

“What happens if you pick the wrong anchor?”

“I dunno,” Ray admits, “I'm betting nothing good though.”

“We have to find him,” Gerard mutters, trying to sit up but collapsing straight back down again. “Ow, oh motherfucker-”

“Gee? You okay?”

“Feels like I've been run over by a truck. That was part of a convoy. My head...”

“Ray, you awake yet?” Ray nods, still pale but much more alert now, downing the glass of water on the side and reaching into his bedside drawer for some caffeine and sugar pills.

“Give me a couple of minutes to finish convincing myself this isn't another fucking nightmare and I will be.”

“Mikey, stay here, watch Gee. We'll go get Frank, you meet us at Frank's house as soon as you can move. Make sure you bring some of that green goo crap and that Gee gets his mojo back as soon as possible.”

“But we left the medicine at home and mom-”

Swearing, Bob keeps gathering up his stuff, taking three attempts to manage to get his arm into the sleeve of his jacket. “Then sneak in or something! Look, I'm making this shit up as I go here, throw me a frickin' bone will ya?”

Ray finishes pulling on his sneakers and tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, nodding to Bob. “I'll drive, you look worse than I feel.”

“Cheers,” Bob mutters but tosses his keys to Ray. “Let's go.”

**********************************************

The last of the daylight has dropped below the horizon, night rapidly falling as they crunch into the cemetery car park, gravel skidding them slightly as Ray pulls up too fast, too hard. They don't even notice as they jump out though, and quickly grab a couple of flashlights from Bob's 'spare' toolkit in the boot (hey, you never know when a breakdown might happen, and if he can help out a fellow motorist – especially a hot female motorist – then all the better).

Ray's flashlight shines fairly bright through the slightly too long grass as they hurry through it towards Bert's grave, Bob's flickering a little and making him slap it against his palm and tighten the cap until it steadies. Really, Ray thinks, Bob should invest in one of those self powered ones with the little handle-

“There!” For all its faults, Bob's light has quickly picked out the flare of white from the soles of Frank's Converse sticking out into the path and they break out into a full on run at last.

The smudge stick lies abandoned in the grass, just a bare inch or so left to mark how long Frank has been lying there. Trails of ashes and burnt grass lie in its wake and the air carries the trace of its sweet and cloying, oddly sickly scent before Bob quickly stamps it out as Ray drops down to lean over Frank.

“Frank? Come on, buddy, wake up!” Ray can feel his hands trembling as he lifts Frank's eyelids, wincing at the sight and not knowing if the way Frank's eyes sluggishly start to shrink in the light is a good or bad sign. He's breathing though, faint and very shallow and with a definite wheeze, his lips tinged blue, but fuck, that's Frank on a good day sometimes. Pulling back at the layers of clothing, searching for some sign of injury, Ray freezes as the scarf shifts down exposing Frank's throat-

The burns are long, red, and unnaturally sharp, the clean lines of fingers all too visible and clearly wrapped around Frank's neck. 

“Oh, fuck.” Quickly tugging at Frank's clothes to expose his chest, Ray breathes a small sigh of relief that the old scars are still fading, no new lines marking Frank's skin, but his skin is clammy and he's way too pale, freezing but not even shivering in the cold night air. “Bob, we gotta get him outta here-”

“Car, even driving round the park it will still be quicker than trying to carry him through all the headstones. Especially as he is a deceptively heavy fucker when he's dead weight.”

Nodding, Ray shifts to grab Frank's feet, propping the flashlight across his body to shine feebly. Bob clips his own to his belt loop before grabbing Frank under the arms and hoisting him up. “Careful.”

Bob just glares in the weird shifting light of the two flashlights and focuses instead on backtracking through the gravestones. The air smells sharp with frost and the grass is slick beneath their feet, but they manage to make it back to the car and manhandle Frank across the back seat.

“Really getting tired of dragging your lazy ass around Iero,” Bob mutters as he haphazardly loops a seatbelt over Frank to stop him falling off the seat.

“His mom is going to kill us all, for real, this time.”

“You know what?” Bob slams the door and slides back in the passenger side with a slight groan. “I don't blame her. This is fucked up, dude.”

“Yeah.”

“I loved Bert but I wish to God they'd just cremated the fucker so I can stop finding my friends half dead on his grave.” 

Nodding and slipping the car into gear, Ray hits the gas and they are away.

************************************

To say that Frank's mom is upset is like saying Mount Everest is a bit steep. She is so far beyond upset it's bordering on full on hysteria, at least it seems to be until she spots Frank sprawled out between them, still unconscious and pale.

“Oh, Frankie...” Hurrying down the steps, she helps them guide him into the house, her panic gone so fast that it almost seems as though another person has taken over. “The couch, lay him down.” She leaves them alone, the boys struggling but finally managing to get Frank into a position that looks like it might be vaguely comfortable, but then she is back, a first aid kit in one hand and a blanket in the other. “Help me get his clothes off.”

The boys hesitate, looking at each other, and she almost smiles before shaking her head. “Just do it, I need to see the damage.” Moving awkwardly, they start with the outer layers, shoes and jacket tossed to the floor, but once Frank is down to his shorts she simply checks his legs and, finding them free of marks, pulls the blanket up over his chest, hiding the fading scars under it.

“What happened?”

“We, we don't know,” Ray admits, “we weren't there, but we felt-” He breaks off, hesitating, but she looks up at him sharply. “We felt it. Him. Something. At least Mikey and Gee did, we just got a bit of it. And Mikey said Frank was in trouble, we, uh-”

“We think he was trying to exorcise a ghost. On his own.”

Swearing colourfully and muttering about the idiot gene being strong in the Iero family and seriously, what the Hell was William thinking letting him do that, and if he hadn't already been dead she was going to kill him-

“I think I saw William,” Bob blurts out, watching transfixed as her hands move over Frank's body, assessing his neck and checking his breathing before digging through the first aid kit and pulling out a thermometer. “His guide, I uh, I saw him in a mirror. He looked a little beat up and really freaked out.”

Nodding, she slides the thermometer into Frank's ear and waits for the beep before pulling it out, catching Bob's confused look. “When his lungs are bad he has trouble keeping a mouth thermometer in without coughing all over it. Be grateful I didn't get a rectal one. And yes, Bill was probably very 'freaked'.” Leaning down for a moment and resting her head against Frank's arm, she sighs heavily. “Not again, please.” Sitting up again, she shakes her head, her eyes fixed on Frank's.

“Gee and Mikey are on the way, they have some stuff to help with the burns.”

“Good, good, I used to know a recipe but I... I can't remember it now, but if they have one good, that's good. If he has failed an exorcism though he will be in danger, we have to watch over him and make sure.”

Bob glances at Ray who shrugs. “Make sure of what?”

Sighing, she gets to her feet and brushes her hands off against her top before heading for the doorway. “That he is Frank still.”

“What?” Bob follows her out, running halfway up the stairs after her as she goes up and roots around in a linen cupboard for a washcloth and towel. “What do you mean, that's he's still Frank?”

“Why do you think I was so pissed off that you boys were playing around with this stuff?” She snaps, slamming the door closed and stomping down the stairs towards him and, despite him being big enough for her to just bounce off him Bob jumps out of the way quickly. “You may have grown up with magic but you know shit about the spirit world. This isn't some Earth plus thing, this is its own world with its own rules and if you go poking around in it you're just as likely to get your hand bitten off as shook. I should know, I've been trying to tell him but oh no, he knows better. Kids.”

Wetting the cloth in the kitchen sink she wrings it out and hurries back into the front room and lays it over Frank's neck, watching as he winces slightly even in his unconscious state. “We didn't poke around-”

“Bullshit.” Running her fingers over Frank's forehead, she considers. “Oh Frankie, you stupid boy.”

“He was trying to help,” Ray whispers, standing somewhat lost in the corner.

“If he was trying to help then why were none of you with him to stop him doing something so idiotic-”

“They were all with me,” Ray admits, sounding close to tears and frustrated, “I kept seeing- All the time, every time, I couldn't stop- They were trying to help me, they were making it stop, but I was _supposed_ to see this, I was supposed to stop him, and I didn't, and now it's going to happen, all of it, and I can't stop it, and Mrs Iero, I'm so sorry, I should have been able to stop it, it's my fault-”

Bob isn't sure exactly what is going on and when she rises again and moves towards Ray he instinctively tries to stop her, fearing she's about to attack but instead she grabs Ray's face and forces him to look at her.

“Stop that. It's happened, it's not-” Blowing out a long breath, she sighs, shaking her head. “It's not your fault I raised a dumbass who won't listen to me.” Letting go, she drops her hands to her side and takes deep breaths, visibly struggling to draw herself together again. “If anyone started this, it was me, a very long time ago.”

“Mrs Iero-” Bob starts to speak but a hammering on the front door stops him and, at a wave from her he hurries to open it. Gerard looks like Hell, Mikey half holding him up, but the jar of goo is tucked safely under his arm and they both look more awake at least. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Gerard jokes, letting Mikey help him over the step them pushing him away to go into the room under his own power. “Mrs Iero-”

“Gerard.” Moving to stand by Frank's head, she gives him a moment to just stare, his mouth open in horror at the sight of Frank unmoving, the finger marks around his neck.

“Holy fuck.”

“Can you help him?”

Nodding, Gerard drops to his knees on the floor, grateful for the chance to just collapse again. The jar is stiff to open but as soon as Bob manages to get the lid off Gerard is reaching in and liberally coating his fingers with it. The first touch to Frank's skin makes him react, just a little, a faint gasp that fades as Gerard begins to rub it in, sending as much energy as he can spare through the mixture.

It's not much, his body already sagging, but it seems to help a little, the red easing – although that could just be the green of the goo hiding it like makeup. It's clear from the tremble in his fingers that he can't keep it up for long, but as soon as he begins to falter Ray leans in closer, taking over the work and letting Gerard flop back against the edge of the sofa, skin tinged grey and with deep shadows making their way under his eyes.

Frank's mom just watches as, at Gerard's instruction they take it in turns to rub their fingers through the green goo, over Frank's neck, his breathing easing with each touch until a little colour starts to return to his face and his breathing eases out, just a faint rattle remaining. Bob goes last, the slick goo making him wince in disgust, but finally he steps back to let her back in.

Gently sliding her way onto the sofa, lifting Frank's head and chest up so he can rest on her lap, she cradles her son gently, placing her fingertips on his throat and just feeling the heat of the burns easing a little. There is still a rattle in his throat, something blocking the way, but he can breathe. It's a start.

“Thank you,” she says quietly at last, taking in the bedraggled group of boys – young men – around her. “He's likely to be out of it for a while, if you want to head home-”

“With all due respect ma'am,” Bob says slowly, “you said something about needing to make sure he is himself when he wakes up. We can help with that.”

“What do you mean?” Gerard sounds like Ray looked that morning, his voice slightly slurred but his eyes sharp as he looks between them. “You think he's been hurt?”

“He failed an exorcism,” Mrs Iero sighs softly, shaking her head. “Doors swing both ways and when you open one you have to be sure the spirit will go through it or there is a, a recoil of sorts. We need to make sure Frank hasn't been possessed by the spirit.”

“By Bert?” Gerard looks like he's going to throw up. “No, he, he wouldn't-”

“Wake up Gee,” Bob snaps, pointing at Frank's throat, “you think Frank did those to himself?”

“No, but Bert wouldn't-”

“Enough!” Raising her hands in defeat, Frank's mom stares them down. “You have to stop this, stop thinking of spirits as being the same as the person they were in life. It doesn't matter if they were the sweetest little old lady who wouldn't hurt a fly, as a spirit they can be powerful and dangerous and have no appreciation of their own strength and no control, just instincts and memory. And even if they are self aware the instinct to just be, to stay, to cling onto this approximation of life is the strongest of all, no matter what they may have believed about an afterlife.”

“So if Frank is... isn't himself, what then?”

Mikey's voice is quiet but enough to draw their gazes. “Then we have to find a way to find him again.”

****************************************

Frank hurts. It's all he knows, all he can feel, his throat several steps beyond sore and into holy fuck who let him gargle with broken glass because seriously, that shit ain't funny. His chest aches like someone has been standing on it and he can't move, his fingers trapped and too hot and-

“Ow.”

His fingers twitch, pulled up from his side in a jerking movement that makes him flinch and his head throb but no more than the sudden burst of noise around him. 

“Frank?”

“Is it him? Fuck, how do we know-”

“Shh, let go of his hand Gee, you'll crush him-”

“Mikey, can you tell, is it him?”

“Maybe if you'd all shut up and let me listen-”

“Enough!”

Frank opens his eyes slowly at the sound of his mom's voice, and he winces as the sunlight blinds him, forcing him to keep blinking. There are shadows everywhere, blurry and coloured and looming over him. They seem nice enough shadows, not the creepy sort from Ghost (not that he has ever seen that movie, nope, and even if he had, he definitely never thought that the pottery scene made Patrick Swayze look really hot.) Patrick Swayze made a dull ghost though, a boring fucker like Bruce Willis, not full on creepy Poltergeist evil, now _that_ was a ghost-

Ghost.

Evil.

Bert.

“Gee!” Frank shoots upright, shouting and trying to throw off the hands holding him, sudden fierce grips pushing him back against the couch and wow, shouting was not a good idea, his throat is screaming right back at him and his voice was kind of pathetic-

“Stay back Gee, don't get too close yet-”

“Is it him? Mikey can you tell?”

“Guys, just let-”

“Frank?”

The last is whispered, just a soft plea, but it's enough to get Frank to stop struggling and focus again, coughs wracking his body as he tries to breathe and oh, who replaced his nice wide airway with a spitball clogged straw. Letting himself be pushed back into the cushions, Frank looks wildly round, searching the room until he spots Gerard. Gerard is being held back, Ray blocking him into a corner whilst Bob and Mikey hold Frank himself down, even though it feels like far more than four hands on him-

Oh. Bob must be copping a magic hands feel. Cheeky motherfucker.

“Gee, you okay?” Frank whispers at last, his voice cracked and barely audible but he doesn't even notice. He's too shocked by the sight of Gerard looking so pale, his fingers clenched tight against Ray's shoulder and tension clear in the tired lines around his eyes. At the sound, Gerard laughs once, half relief and half hysteria, and rolls his eyes. 

“Am _I_ okay? Frankie-”

“Wait, Gerard, shut the fuck up for a minute,” Bob interrupts, his grip on Frank solid but also caring and gentle, not too hard. It's not rough for the sake of it, but rough for everyone's safety in the way that only the child who has cared for a loved one lost to a curse, whether magical or medical, can be. “Mikey, verdict?”

Frank twists his head and spots Mikey, standing behind him and with hands pressing down against his shoulders. It doesn't make sense, what are they all doing, why are they treating him like this, what-

“Bert,” Frank mouthes at last and lets his eyes roll shut. Stupid, asshole, motherfucking Bert, he hadn't stopped him and seriously, next time he was taking a supersoaker of holy water up there and just dousing the fucker – or better still, just _drinking_ a couple of gallons of the stuff then peeing on his grave, see how he liked _that_ -

Mikey snorts with laughter and steps back, letting go of Frank. “It's him, it's Frank.”

“You sure?” Bob asks, still holding on tight and wow, Frank thinks, paranoia must be a side effect of the Werewolf thing because who doesn't trust a telepath, except for maybe Garabaldi from Babylon 5-

Laughing again, Mikey sinks down to the floor by the couch as Ray and Gerard come a step closer. “Really sure.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Bob breathes and lets go at last, collapsing down to the floor and dropping his head into his hands. “Seriously, thank fuck for that.”

“Amen,” Gerard echoes and pushes past Ray, dropping to his knees beside Frank and leaning in to kiss him hard. Frank almost laughs in surprise before melting into it, his body responding with way too much interest for current company-

“Enough,” his mom says at last and wow, that is enough of a wake up call to make Frank flush red right down his chest, hot and kindof itchy as Gerard drops back, his head resting on Frank's shoulder. “Let him breathe Gerard, he's had a nasty injury-”

Injury? Frank zones out for a minute and concentrates on the aches in his body, experimentally twitching all his fingers and toes before running his hands under the blanket and over his chest, tracing over the healing scars and up to his throat-

“Ow.” The conversation around him stops as Frank hesitantly pokes at his throat. Well, that explains the broken glass feeling, not to mention the fact that he's wheezing like his dad's old laptop just before it finally died. His skin is too hot, feeling like sunburn, and swollen and stretched tight over his throat but at the same time it's a little sticky, the now sadly too familiar feeling of the Way family ghost goo on his skin making him scrunch up his nose in disgust.

“Yeah,” his mom says, whacking him over the top of his head with the flat of her hand. “You got off lightly you idiot.” Twisting his head back to look up at her, Frank tries to croak out a sorry but ends up having to mouth it instead. Rolling her eyes, his mom shakes her head and leaves the room, making Frank wince but then the others crowd in closer again, each touching him as though to reassure themselves that he is okay, and with so many questions about what happened that he really, really can't answer right now.

The tangle finally resolves itself with Frank sitting up on the couch with the blanket wrapped around him and Gerard against his side, hands entwined loosely. Bob and Ray crowd into an armchair in a heap of too long limbs and hair whilst Mikey sits on the arm of the couch beside Frank, his hand resting on Frank's shoulder. 

By the time Frank's mom has forcefed him warm honey tea and tepid water he is feeling stronger but his voice is still completely wrecked. Without a word, Mikey's grip tighten as Frank's hand slides up to rest over his and he opens himself up to his friend. So, surrounded by his friends and feeling like an idiot (especially when Mikey decides to narrate the story with extra details that Frank certainly isn't thinking), Frank lets Mikey in and tells them everything that happened. 

Their reactions range from anger to disbelief to despair as Mikey narrates the tale, wincing along with Frank as they reach the part about Bert attacking him and him passing out.

“So you just what, fainted?”

Snorting hurts, but Frank tries anyway before giving in and untangling his fingers from Gerard's to flip Bob off. “You try it next time,” he tries to croak out before his mom silences him with a glare. Looking up at Mikey he lets his friend ask the one question he's been worrying about since waking up.

“How did you guys find me?”

There is an exchange of looks and a hesitance running through the room that makes him stop and look at them each in turn. Frowning, he finally settles for looking up at Mikey questioningly. * _What?_ *

So they tell him. About Mikey's reaction. About Gerard on the floor. About Bill in the mirror. And about Bob's theory.

“We're a coven?” Frank manages to mouth, looking round the room as Gerard shrugs and Ray just smiles. Grinning to himself, Frank closes his eyes and leans back into the couch. Okay, so it feels like he has been trying to deep throat a flamethrower, but here, with his friends around him, Frank feels like he can take on the world.

“Congratulations,” his mom says drolly, her voice cold. “Doesn't mean you are not still in serious trouble young man.”

Take on the world, yes. 

Bert? With his team, his _motherfucking most awesomest thing ever actual honest to God coven_ , by his side next time, maybe. 

Taking on his mom though? Hell no. At least, not until his life has a hell of a lot more caffeine in it...

*********************************************************

It takes both Frank's mom and Gerard working together to get him up the stairs and into bed, his body drained completely and his voice raw and wheezing with the exertion. Whilst everyone around him looks exhausted, and his body settles into the pillows far too gratefully for his liking, Frank's mind is wide awake and whirring as it processes what he's been told.

Not to mention his stomach is kicking up a riot of guilt at the thought of his friends having suffered so much because he was stupid. Mikey had kept the description of Gerard's reaction matter of fact but sitting so close the connection between them was still open and he had seen it, heard the screaming, seen his face-

“I don't know what I'm going to do with you,” his mom says at last, sitting down on the end of the bed and dropping her head into her hands tiredly. “I ground you and you just get into even more trouble than when I let you out. I try to keep you away from Magic and you find it anyway. I tell you to be patient, to be careful and you jump in headlong-”

“Mom-”

“I'm starting to think I should just tell you to go for it and do whatever you like, maybe then you might actually take the time to stop and think for once in your life-”

“Mrs Iero-”

“Gerard, quiet.” Dropping her hands, she looks up at last but doesn't look at Frank, focusing instead on the wall. “I'm starting to think my only hope to keep Frank alive and sane is you, Gerard.”

Frank is gratified to see Gerard jump in surprise, turning to face her with a shocked look on his face. “What?”

She looks at them both and lets out a long, steady breath. “Do you love him?”

Frank isn't blushing, nope, no way, but Gerard definitely is, his ears pinking up adorably as he stutters a little and fidgets, and really, if he was in any fit state to do anything about it Frank would totally just pull him under the covers too.

“I- Y-Yes, but I don't know what-”

“You're a healer and defender, you've grown up around magic, you know its dangers, and you love him. If _I_ can't keep him from being a moron maybe _you_ can. If he won't listen to me, if he won't listen to William, then just maybe he will listen to you.”

“Mom-” 

“Shut up, Frank. I didn't really expect you to get your powers, I certainly didn't expect you to find other Witches, as for you getting a coven, that was just a dream that I gave up long before you were born. But if it's true, and it certainly sounds that way, then I have to respect that. Coven is...” She hesitates, looking at Gerard and he swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing up and down nervously, before speaking.

“Coven is sacred.”

“Exactly.”

Frank isn't sure he likes the sound of that, the way they are looking at each other implying something he's sure he has missed along the way, but Gerard isn't pulling away this time, his fingers seeking out Frank's again and that's a good thing. He'll take what he can get for now.

“Frank,” his mom sighs and oh, so now someone is actually talking _to_ him, instead of about him, awesome. Trying to shift in the bed then giving up, Frank settles for peering at her over the covers with a hopeful smile. “I know you don't really understand all this right now, I'm not even sure there are words to explain it, but you're part of something bigger now, and you have to grow up.”

Sputtering slightly, Frank tries to object but she cuts him off.

“No, I mean it, your actions affect more than just you now, your magic can cause great harm if you get it wrong and your friends have already had a taste of that now.” The guilt monster inside Frank's gut shifts again and make him swallow hard which, ouch, is a mistake. “You need to be more careful but most of all you need to be with them.”

A sliver of hope worms its way in alongside the guilt. Does she mean..?

“So,” she says decisively, slapping her hands against her thighs as she stands up before staring them down again. “No grounding. Instead I want you to spend as much time with your friends as possible. Strengthen your connection, let them anchor you and maybe teach you a little responsibility and Goddamn restraint for once.”

Frank is trying not to take any of that as innuendo, honestly he isn't, but he's half naked in his bed and Gerard is _right there_ and being told to spend more time with him is just too good to be true.

Huh, maybe he did die in the cemetery? A quick swallow pushes that thought aside. The dead don't need to swallow and it certainly wouldn't hurt as much.

“Gerard, I'm trusting you to watch over him and God help you both if you mess up again, understood?”

“Yes ma'am,” Gerard whispers, pale again now as she moves away from the bed, straightening the covers and pulling the drapes as she goes.

“Good. Now, you're welcome to stay but Frank needs his rest so take it easy boys. And just because I'm letting you two see each other again does not mean other house rules are lifted, _understood Frank?_ The bedroom door stays open and unlocked mister.”

Nodding quickly, Frank tries to look innocent but fails miserably as always.

“I'll go check on the others but you all could do with some sleep. As could I.”

Frank tries to speak but it comes out a croak, his voice almost non existent until Gerard passes him some tea to sip again. “William?” he finally manages to wheeze out. His mom pauses, considering.

“From what you describe, my best guess is he's exhausted and needs time to recover. As do you. He'll be back.”

Nodding, Frank breathes a sigh of relief, settling back into the pillows as she leaves and smiling as Gerard shifts to curl up alongside him. Sadly on top of the covers rather than under, but hey, Frank'll take what he can get right now. Wrapping an arm around him, Frank tries to ignore the pain in his throat and concentrate on rubbing slow circles over Gerard's back, feeling the tension start to drain out of him. But without him even noticing his eyes slide closed again and sleep claims them both.

*************************************

Gerard finally leaves after dark, his body still tired as he trudges home, Mikey and the others (and the car) long gone but he doesn't mind the walk. His mind is wide awake, still working its way through everything.

Coven. He has a coven.

He's grown up with the stories, the wistful looks and longing sighs that accompany the word. Every Witch has the potential to form a coven but the actual blending of personalities and talents or, as his nonna puts it, finding your soulmates, it's rare. Even within the three collectives he knows of, his own and two others within the nearby states, he only knows of one active, current, coven. 

Sure, his nonna had been in one for a few years when she was a young woman, and his mom's friend ran off to join one down in Florida, but still, they were considered something of a dream, or something to aspire to like playing for the Yankees or running for President. They're also usually all women, or at least mixed, all male covens rarer just as male Witches are rarer due to the talents passing through the maternal line.

Female covens are more common, and more powerful, than male ones. But male covens have the potential to last an entire lifetime whereas most end when female Witches choose to have children to pass on the gifts; even those women who didn't lose their powers to their children were often changed by pregnancy, sometimes enough to disrupt the balance of the coven and break the bond. To find an all male coven was to find something _permanent_ and lasting, with the potential to shape a collective for decades.

For all their joking about wanting to find a coven Gerard had never, ever, considered it a real possibility, just an idle fantasy. Even when he had thought about it, he'd figured their missing member would be a girl, maybe even Tori, a natural expiry date being set on the bond by her presence. A few years as part of a coven, being powerful, making a difference, it had sounded fun. 

To spend the rest of his life tied to his friends? To force that on Frank, when they'd only just started going out, really, it was too much and what if they didn't work out and broke up, the whole bond would know, would be ruined-

Taking a deep breath, Gerard bends over and tries to concentrate on just not panicking. One thing at a time. 

The future would take care of itself. Hiding the fact that they had bonded as a coven with a guy who nobody knew was a Witch, now THAT was something to worry about right now. They couldn't hide it forever, not now, and especially not if they were going to keep a closer eye on Frank, but just until he was ready to 'come out', that was all they had to manage.

How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too cliffhangery I hope! There are still plenty of plot bunnies attacking me for this 'verse so there will be more to come, so watch this space and thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I leave a long time between stories but hope you think it is worth the wait!! Huge thanks to Die_Pretty for both helping with the Yank!Pick and generally being a little cheerleader and helping me get this part finished. You're a star! :)
> 
> I haven't worked out how many chapters this is yet, but this part of the arc is written so it will be posted regularly and completed in a timely fashion. What, I hate reading works in progress too you know. ;)


End file.
